And In Your Arms I Shall Find Shelter
by Maknatuna
Summary: Dean Winchester is a long forgotten painter who suddenly receives an order for a painting from a rich man - Crowley. He is about to start painting when Castiel - his personal reaper visits him. The main question is: Will Castiel give Dean enough time to finish the painting?
1. Chapter 1

Special thanks goes to my wonderful beta** bethanyyerinn **for amazing work and great suggestions :)

**Chapter 1**

When life loses its meaning, there are a few options left: end your sorry life quietly, drown your sorrows in alcohol, or just don't give a fuck and move on.

For Dean Winchester the first option is unacceptable. As to the drinking and not giving a fuck, he can do it. He and alcohol are good friends. And when he's drunk off his ass, that's when 'don't give a fuck' joins them.

The mobile rings and it sounds just like the Jericho horn. Loud groaning comes from the couch and the hand reaches out to grab the device. It takes quite a long time to find the phone amongst empty Whiskey bottles and plastic cups.

"Hello," the sleepy and drunken voice rasps.

"Dean, it's Adam. I found a customer who wants a painting. I've showed him some of your paintings and he's very interested. He has invited us to the restaurant to discuss a business deal. Dean? Are you there?"

Dean sits up and rubs his face. He has not had orders for paintings for a long time. And he needs to pay his bills, Sam's college expenses, and much more.

"Alright, Adam. Where should I come to and when?" Dean sobers up as he speaks to his best friend.

"8 PM. La Dolce Vita," his friend says as he gives him the restaurant address.

"Thanks buddy. I'll definitely be there." Dean throws the mobile back into the pile of bottles and shuffles towards the bathroom to take a shower.

He still has four hours before the meeting and takes his time. The water feels pleasant against his hot body. The pounding in his temples subsides, his hands stop shaking, and Dean Winchester feels alive again.

He imagines that the bad luck and adverse streak are washed away just like the soap and shampoo residue that disappear into the drain.

As he walks out of the bathroom with a big, white towel around his waist, he can't help but smile at the old memories. He would never have imagined himself becoming a painter considering that he hated the private lessons with Mr. Roche. His teacher firmly believed that Dean had a great talent and the boy's parents trusted him.

Mr. Roche was right about Dean's talent. His first work painted at the age of twenty, showing a mythological scene of Diana's hunting, indeed was splendid. The painting produced a furor at the local exhibition. The critics and specialists foretold great perspectives for the beginner painter.

And the exciting life began. Traveling from one city to another to attend various exhibitions, fancy restaurants, the prettiest women, popularity, money, and glory. Customers were flooding him with new orders. It was a dream which one does not want to wake up from.

And then everything stopped as fast as it began. At first, the orders started to vanish one by one. Then the customers started to avoid him. Women did not seem interested in him anymore. Being a generous man, Dean never had much savings in his account. And that was when he decided to make some boundaries. He had to live frugally, otherwise he would run out of all money he still had.

Dean shakes his head at the unpleasant memories. To be honest, he still does not understand what happened. What could there be for him to have such bad luck?

He sits at the table and pours black coffee into his mug. The rich aroma teases his nostrils and Dean's mouth starts to water. The man takes a bite of a delicious looking sandwich and hums contentedly. These are the moments when he forgets all the dark sides of his life and believes everything will be well.

* * *

The meeting at the restaurant is surprisingly nice. The customer's name is Fergus Crowley. He is a pleasant man with a charming British accent.

"Adam has shown me your paintings and I am very impressed," he says with a smile. His black eyes sparkle mysteriously.

"Which ones have you seen?" Dean puts the fork down, though the meals here are extremely delicious thanks to the cooks. That must be why this restaurant stayed number one on the list for the past few years.

"I've seen 'The Trojan Horse', 'Apple of Discord', 'Antony and Cleopatra'. I must say, we share the same tastes, my friend. Mythology and history have always been my weak spots." Crowley laughs softly and sips Craig.

"I've always been fascinated by them." Dean nods at the man in front of him. "So, I've heard you want to make an order for a painting?" he continues.

Crowley puts his glass down and stares at Dean. He looks at Dean but does not seem to see him. His black eyes see beyond him. Dean literally can see the scenes rushing through his mind like wild horses galloping away in the wind.

Adam clears his throat awkwardly. That brings Crowley back from his thoughts. "Oh, sorry about that. Yes, I need one painting to complete my collection of Ancient Rome."

"Good choice," Dean smiles and turns the wine glass in his hand. "Anything special? Any major event from Ancient Roman history?"

Crowley nods slowly and raises his finger. "I want you to paint the famous twin brothers."

Adam glances at the British man curiously. "You mean the whole wolf thing?"

"Yes. Exactly. I trust your imagination." Crowley says with a wink for Dean.

Dean thinks for a minute. This should not be hard at all. He has painted a lot from the Roman themes. "Sure thing. I can do it," he says with confidence.

"Great. Now, let's talk about the cost and the time frames." Crowley taps his fingers on the table. "Go on, don't be shy. Say the price."

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat. This part has always been the worst. But it's unavoidable, so he says the price quietly.

Crowley leans against his chair and takes another sip from his drink. "How long does it take to finish a painting?" he asks calmly.

"Depends on a painting size, complexity, and other factors. For me, one month maximum," Dean answers. He is not sure if Crowley is interested anymore.

The answer that comes from Crowley is shocking.

"I will pay you three times more and you finish in two weeks. I have a party for special guests and I need the painting by that time. Also, I will provide you with all the necessary supplies."

Dean finds it hard to breathe and unbuttons his black shirt at the neck. He could do so much with this money! He could cover Sammy's college cost, whatever there was to cover that he had been neglecting as of late. And still, there would be a sufficient amount left.

"Alright. I agree," he rasps and quickly clears his throat.

"Is it not wonderful, my friends?" Crowley laughs heartily and taps Dean's shoulder amicably.

But the evening does not end with just one surprise. Dean Winchester's jaw almost drops when Crowley fills the check and hands it to him.

"For a good job, I do not regret paying in advance. And I am more than sure that you will do it perfectly."

They agree that tomorrow morning, Crowley will send his people to Dean's house in order to provide him with all the necessary materials.

* * *

Dean feels very happy when he gets back home. He goes to his bedroom and lies on the bed, humming a Metallica song. In the morning he could call Sam and share the good news with him. His eyes feel heavy and close slowly. Dean is ready to drift away in the dream-world, when a crashing sound of glass shattering sounds from the living room.

Instantly, Dean jumps from the bed, reaching under his pillow for a knife. He has never used it before, because there was no need usually, but he liked to keep it there anyway.

Dean slowly opens the bedroom door and sneaks out. When he reaches the leaving room he can see that the magazine table is flipped, news papers are scattered around, the broken glass is spread like ice shards. Dean gets closer and the he notices….

Feet…legs…thighs….naked ass….What the hell?

There is a naked man lying on the floor. The glass is covering his back. Some bits are stuck in his dark hair.

Dean tightens his grip around the knife and is ready to yell at the naked stranger when he sits up and shakes his head. The shatters fly around.

The stranger stands up and turns around to stare at the astonished painter. Unearthly blue eyes look at him, the man's intense gaze burns holes into his green eyes, and an unwilling shiver runs down Dean's spine all the way to his feet.

"Dean Winchester," the stranger's deep, gravelly voice sounds. "The time has come!" The naked man takes two steps towards Dean.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get into my house?" Dean yells at him.

"I am Castiel, your angel of death." It is the weirdest reply that Dean has ever heard in his life. He has heard lot of stupid and shocking things, but this is the strangest and creepiest.

What do you do when a naked man appears into your house stating he is your death angel?

Of course, you call the police! His trembling fingers dial 911 while he slowly retreats. The knife is pointed at the stranger warningly.

"Hello, this is Dean Winchester calling. I need your help. There is a naked guy in my house…"

The operator writes down his address, and after a few minutes sirens make deafening sounds as they get nearer to his house.

"You cannot escape me." Castiel's gaze is intent on his face. And the bastard does not even flinch when the cops rush into the room, grab him, push his face down on the floor, and handcuff him.

The only word that escapes Castiel's mouth before cops take him out sounds like a warning. "Soon..." he says with his deep voice, and then the four hands drag him out.

One cop stays with Dean to ask him some questions about the break-in and he answers the questions absentmindedly. Soon the cop leaves, and Dean is left alone sitting on the couch thinking about what the hell has just happened.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dean's mind tries to find a rational explanation to what just happened. One can easily see the wheels turning and hear the screeching sounds they make in his brain.

"This is not possible," the painter mumbles.

How could this weirdo get in when all the doors and windows are locked? It is not like he could fall from the sky. Dean laughs at himself when instinctively he looks up at the ceiling, as if expecting a big hole there. He brushes the disturbing thoughts away and starts to clean the mess left by the stranger.

"I hope you get what you deserve, dickhead," he huffs as he sweeps the glass that is scattered around the room like tiny, white pearls.

As he finishes tidying the room, he gets his reward – a cold beer - and settles on the couch to watch something relaxing. A silly, boring comedy is on and Dean does not realize when he falls asleep….

_There is only darkness and loneliness around. The fear is crawling from his toes up to his spine, holding him in a vice like grip. He is out of breath and really needs to stop, but he can't. He knows he must not stop. The sound of his boots against the concrete street echo from the walls of the building. The air around him is charged with eeriness and despair. _

_He does not know who he is running away from, but all his instincts tell him to run for his life. The dying moon casts its light down; the rays are like a skeletal hand, quivering and cracking its knuckles in anticipation. _

_The wind stirs behind his back, knocking the garbage cans over. Then the sound comes… It's distant at first but getting nearer with each second. The painter's mind feverishly tries to discern what he hears. It sounds like wind blowing but is more powerful. And there is a rhythm, a precise rhythm. Every blow repeats exactly after five seconds. No more, no less. Why the hell is he counting when he has to get away from this place as soon as possible? _

_His legs give up and Dean collapses in the middle of an empty street. He crawls to the nearest wall, which is hidden in the dark, and just sits there. This is his last and only hope: that he will be safe in the darkness._

_The sounds return. And finally the painter realizes that it's the sound of the beating wings! What the hell? Is he being chased by some kind of a freaky bird? Dean throws his head back and laughs hysterically. He decides that he has had enough of hiding and after finding strength, walks out of his hiding place…_

_The sight that he sees makes each and every hair on his body stand on its end. He stares at the sky with his mouth hanging open and eyes ready to fall out of their sockets._

"_Jesus fucking Christ…" These are the only words he is able to utter while looking at the figure flying towards him._

_Dean is chained where he stands, unable to move. Astonishment and fear hold him hostage. For the love of God, what is this creature?_

_The winged creature slowly descends. The wings…Oh God, his wings…They are enormous and blacker than the darkest night. The creature gingerly shakes them and immediately the air wave almost knocks the painter over. _

_The creature wears a black hooded cloak and Dean cannot see the face or hands, or anything at all except those black appendages._

_And then suddenly it speaks. _"_Dean Winchester…"_

_What…? What is this…?_

"_I told you, you cannot escape me," the creature grabs the hood and reveals its face._

_Piercing, inhumanly blue eyes stare at the painter, looking right through his soul. The painter recognizes the naked guy from his living room. The cold hand touches Dean's right cheek and everything drifts away…_

Dean wakes up on his couch with a terrified yell. The beer bottle is still in his hand. He is covered in cold sweat and his t-shirt feels uncomfortable against his sticky body.

"Fuck this shit…." he curses and heads to take a shower.

* * *

There is a knocking on his door at 9 am. When Dean opens it, there are two men at his doorsteps with lots of boxes.

"Mr. Winchester, we were sent by Mr. Crowley. We brought all the necessary materials you will need to proceed with the painting," says the shorter guy with a friendly smile.

"Oh, right. Come on in." Dean opens the door wider and lets them in.

"Where do you want us to take these boxes?"

"Here," Dean says as he takes them to his studio and shows where to put the boxes.

"Wow. These are awesome," says the second guy, who has a blue cap, pointing at the paintings that are decorating the walls.

"Thanks, man," Dean chuckles.

"Oh, and here is a special gift for you from Mr. Crowley." The shorter guy says, pulling a whiskey bottle from one of the boxes. The label says Ladybank Single Malt.

"Oh, God…." Dean gasps as he reads it. "This is one of the most expensive Scottish whiskeys in the world."

The guys just shrug. They know their employer too well to be surprised.

"He's a strange guy, but not in a bad way. Always likes to surprise people. Oh, I'm John and this is my friend Bill," says the guy with a cap, reaching his hand out to Dean.

Dean shakes their hands and leads them out to the living room where he offers them some coffee. They accept gladly, and while drinking it they talk about Fergus Crowley. Dean learns that the guy owns a 15th century castle in Scotland and fancy villas in Mallorca, Tuscan, and Cannes. He also notices that John and Bill talk about Crowley with a lot of respect.

"He helped save my daughter's life," adds Bill after some hesitation as old memories make him flinch.

"She needed an urgent kidney transplant and we did not have enough money. I was distraught that I could not do anything. Mr. Crowley found me weeping in his backyard and when I told him everything he covered all the expenses: the operation, the hospital bills, and the rehabilitation period. I swore after that day that I would never work for anyone else, even if they had promised me a billion dollars." Bill finishes his story and puts the coffee mug down.

The awkward silence breaks when Bill rises from his chair. "Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Winch..."

"Dean. Call me Dean."

"Right. Thanks for the coffee, Dean. We'd better go." Bill moves to the front door and his friend follows suite. The guys bid their goodbyes and leave Dean's house.

* * *

It is right when they say time is relative. When you are busy it slips away unnoticed, but when you have nothing to do it seems like an eternity.

Dean works in his studio 'til late at night. At first he does some research, re-reading all the sources and myths about the twin brothers and their nursing wolf. Then there is a lot of fussing over the painting supplies. He has to unpack and arrange all the oil paint colors, the canvas, the brushes, the palette knife, the paint palette, containers, gloves, rags, etc.

When he finally finishes organizing the supplies, he's exhausted. The studio is a mess but he likes this mess. It's somehow relaxing to him. Creative mess, that's what artists call it. He shuts the door behind him and makes himself two promises. First: the first thing that he will do in the morning is to call his little brother and second, he will work on the painting 24/7 if necessary, but starting from tomorrow. He's just too tired for it right now.

Dean switches the TV and lights off and heads to bed. He's ready to sink into oblivion when his mobile rings, startling the painter.

"Hello?" Dean sounds a little bit angry. It's 2 am, who the hell is calling at this time?

"Dean Winchester? This is agent Walker speaking."

Dean does not like the fact that he is getting a call from the police station, but what's worse is how tense the voice sounds.

"Yeah, what's the problem, agent?" Dean momentarily sobers up, sensing something ominous.

"I don't really know how to explain, and it may sound insane, but the guy…" the voice stops for a few seconds, searching for right words. "He…we lost him."

Dean sits up in his bed and turns the lamp on. "What do you mean, you lost him?" The painter feels his heart beat accelerating.

Agent Walker coughs awkwardly on the other end. The information which he has to give Dean is truly shocking.

"We had him in the interrogations room trying to make him talk. Our medicine expert was stating that the guy had some mental disorders, judging from his answers and attitude, when he…he…" Walker stutters.

"For God's sake, what did he do?" Dean yells into the phone.

"He disappeared right in front of our eyes."

The silence is deafening and thick as butter. It seems even a hot knife cannot cut through it.

Dean is too terrified to say anything at all and all he does is disconnect their call, not waiting for more possible information. He has heard enough.

Shit has just hit the fan…

**To be continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The God had taken equal portions of eternity, darkness, oblivion, tears, light, happiness, and joy. From the light, happiness, and joy he had made a mixture with eternity icing. Thus, the angels of life - or as humans called them, 'Guardian Angels' - were created.

From the darkness, tears, oblivion, and eternity, angels of death – also known as the 'Reapers' - were created.

The angels looked similar but still there was a very big difference between them - their wings. The guardian angels had blinding white, shimmering wings, softer than the fluffiest cloud of heaven.

The reapers had dark wings, blacker than the most dreadful pit in Hell. Under the sunlight they would shine with ethereal light, changing colors from raven black to dark blue.

Every human since the birth had two personal angels: an angel of life and an angel of death, who would be present at the human's time of birth. The angel of life had more responsibilities: protecting, guiding. and helping the human throughout his life.

As for the angel of death, he would receive a command from the above authority when it was time to reap the human soul. The command had to be fulfilled, immediately and without mercy. There had not been any cases of disobedience, as the punishments were severe and no one wanted to break the rules.

* * *

_He remembers his creation clearly, like it was only yesterday. But eons have passed since that day. Many cities, even empires, have fallen, many stars have faded, countless wars have happened and much more, but still he remembers every second of his birth…._

_The dark substance bubbles and stirs as the strong and loving hands sink into the thick mass. The tender fingers search for something, something very special, and when they find it, the hands grab it gingerly and steadily._

_The hands covered in black substance appear and a chilling shriek breaks the silence of the night. Something flails and squeals in the arms of a white haired man. It is a newborn baby. Well, not a human child, to be precise._

_The man puts the baby against his chest and strokes his back tenderly. Tiny black wings flutter and shiver as the man touches the baby's shoulder blades._

_"Welcome to the world, my child." It is impossible to describe how loving and soothing the man's voice sounds._

_He lifts the baby off of his chest and brings him closer to his face. Blue eyes stare back at him with such seriousness that the man cannot hold his laughter back._

_"Serious from the birth," the man chuckles and kisses the little reaper on the forehead. "Your human has not been born yet. You will wait for centuries until he arrives into the world. Before that, watch and learn from your older brothers how to do the job properly."_

_The little angel makes a whining noise and it brings a smile to the man's face once again._

_"Your name shall be Castiel. May my love shield you from temptations."_

_And thus the new reaper Castiel is created._

* * *

Watching older brothers is not very pleasant. No one wants to take him with them, as the little reaper asks too many silly questions. That's what older reapers think, anyway.

"You just take their soul. That's it. Do not talk to them. Just kill and go." This is the brief advice that older brothers give him.

Castiel does not understand why he must not interact with a human. It is not like it would break a rule. Nowhere is it written that the reaper cannot talk to his victim.

"But why can't I talk with a human?" the little angel inquires angrily when he cannot get a satisfying answer from his brothers.

Uriel, one of the older reapers, squats in front of Castiel and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Because some of the humans are sly and clever. And if you speak to them, their sweet and heady words can mislead you. They can lead you to temptation and make you forget your task. That is why we never talk to them, just kill them when it is time. Do you understand now, Castiel?" Uriel's voice is calm and confident.

Castiel gulps loudly and nods. He can hear his father's words 'May my love shield you from temptations' ring in his head.

As the centuries go by, the burning feeling of curiosity does not go away; on the contrary, it becomes almost unbearable. Castiel wants to interact with humans, see how they live and what they do. But he cannot leave heaven until he gets the order to bring his human's soul.

He can see the souls brought by his older brothers for a few seconds, but he never has enough time to talk to them, as they are led to the Main Hall where the juries decide their fate, whether they stay in Heaven or take a ride downstairs to Hell.

It is another usual day, when suddenly he is summoned to the Hall. Castiel's heart beats fast as he enters the chamber quickly.

"Castiel, your time has come to bring the man's soul," the mighty voice booms.

The young reaper bows his head obediently.

"Bring Dean Winchester's soul to me."

As he walks out of the Hall, the sun greedily licks and bathes his naked body. As all the reapers are, he is naked too. Angels do not need clothes to cover their beauty.

Castiel unfolds his enormous, heavy, raven-black wings and leaps over the edge….

* * *

Castiel has never flown this far or for so long. His wings are not used to this overwhelming pressure. The feeling of rushing through the air might be unpleasant, but his landing is worse.

He barely manages to shift from his physical body into a ball of energy to go through the house roof without damaging himself. As soon as he passes through the ceiling, he shifts back to his physical body. But maybe too early…

The impact with a glass table is rough. He hits his head against it and blacks out for a few minutes. When his senses return to him, Castiel shifts and straightens up, brushing off the shattered glass.

As he stands up and turns around, a frightened human with a knife stares at him. The green eyes blaze with adrenaline and Castiel actually can see the anger, exasperation, courage, fear, and many other emotions mixed up in them.

The reaper remembers Uriel's words and tries to stay silent, but he cannot resist his urge to speak and words escape his mouth. "Dean Winchester. The time has come."

Castiel flinches when he hears his own voice and clenches his fist.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get in?" the human yells at him.

When the reaper informs him that he is his angel of death and he must take Dean Winchester's soul, the human grabs a strange, square thing and taps a finger on it.

In the next minute Castiel hears the human's nervous voice: "Hello, this is Dean Winchester calling. I need your help. There is a naked guy in my house"….

Castiel finds the human quite amusing and he wants to exchange a few words with him before he reaps him, but he does not have time as the door bursts open and more humans rush in. They grab the reaper and drop him face down on the floor while handcuffing him.

Castiel does not know where they are taking him. Within an hour, he finds himself in a room with a wide glass on the wall. He can see more humans sitting behind it and staring at him.

Someone gives him a red blanket and they make him sit on a chair at the table. His hands are still cuffed. Castiel looks at them with a puzzled expression.

A middle aged man, whose name is Gordon Walker, asks him what reason he had for breaking into Dean Winchester's house in a naked state.

Castiel tilts his head and stares at the man with his blue eyes, considering whether or not he should answer the question. Finally he decides to answer and tells the human that he's a reaper.

Humans are funny. They laugh at truth just like now. Hysterical laughter fills the room after the declaration.

For the next hour, the humans are trying to make him speak the truth. But his only answer is 'I am an angel of death and my task is to reap Dean Winchester's soul'.

Two females with notepads in their hands quickly write something down. Their pens screech against the paper sheets.

Gordon Walker loses his patience and bangs his fists on the table. "Tell the truth, you son of a bitch!" he roars. His face shows extreme disappointment, frustration, and wrath.

Castiel is bored with all the silly questions. It seemed funny and amusing in the beginning, but now he feels annoyed.

The next thing he does causes panicked shouts and screams. Castiel vanishes right in front of their eyes in a gust of wind, leaving a small, black feather on the table.

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The first thought that goes through his head as he wakes up is about his brother, as it always has been. The brothers had a special bond and love for each other, more so than the average siblings. After their parents died in an airplane crash, Dean Winchester knew two things for sure: that he had to stay strong and replace both parents for his younger sibling, and that it would not be easy for sixteen year old boy. Of course there was an option to live with relatives, but both brothers refused and chose to stay together at their own, old house.

Dean had to work his ass off at two jobs to cover the bills and have enough money to sustain Sam and himself. Even the fact that Sam was not very demanding or grouchy was not making life easier for either of them.

Dean was getting exhausted from being under so much stress. Many times he had fallen asleep on the couch with his clothes and boots on. He would not have strength to take even a single bite from a burger. Sam would cover him with a blanket and smile sadly. He knew how hard it was for his brother and was doing his best to help him in any way he could. At least Dean was free from house chores.

The nightmare ended when Dean's teacher Mr. Roche visited the boys one day. He encouraged Dean to resume painting; he had ceased because he had been so busy. Later Dean would admit that this was the best advice he had ever got.

* * *

Dean forgets about the disturbing news from the agent and dials his brother's number. Sammy is a an adult now Dean talked to him about problems like this because he has a unique perspective on things, which he needs if he is to become a successful lawyer like he plans.

There is a shuffling on the other end, then small yelp and some thudding. Dean can't hold in his laughter because he knows exactly what happened: his giant brother has just fallen off the bed and thudded to the floor.

"Heeey, Sammy. Are you alive there?" Dean cackles into the phone.

"Not funny, Dean." Sam is panting and his brother can almost see the bitchface he knows Sam is making (bitchface number 49).

"Gotta tell ya, your best one is number 32, man." Dean is in a teasing mood.

"32? What do you mean?"

"Your bitchface, Sasquatch." Dean grins again.

"Incorrigible jerk," Sam snorts with wide smile spreading on his face.

Dean's heart fills with warmth and he sighs happily. "So, how are you doing, Sammy? What's new with you?"

"Nothing much. I'm planning to come over for a weekend. Can you imagine, I missed you, asshole."

Dean's mood is instantly improved. He has not seen his brother for ages. And even a short visit would be great. "Glad to hear it. Missed you too, Samantha."

Sam just ignores the stupid nickname his brother has given him. "What about you? What's up with you?"

Dean smirks as he can imagine his brother's face while hearing the news about the painting and money check.

"I have some good news for you. I've got a new order for a painting and the guy has given me triple the amount I asked for in advance. Guess what this means?"

Sam falls silent, frowning deeply. "Uhm…a lot of money?" he tries warily.

Dean laughs and finally leaves his bed. "It means I can cover all the remaining amount for your studies."

Sam Winchester almost chokes after hearing this. His eyes water and he cannot speak from all the overwhelming emotions.

"I know, I know. Wipe the snot off." Dean is ruthless.

"Asshole. Anything else you wanna tell me? " Sam sounds more sobered up now than he was in the beginning of this conversation.

"Well…" Dean suddenly remembers the creepy, naked guy and hesitates.

"Dean? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Damn his little brother's psychic powers. Shit. Dean gives up. He knows sooner or later Sam will suck it out of him.

"There was a small incident. A naked guy broke into the house."

Dean practically can hear his brother's concerned thoughts and cuts in before Sam speaks up. "Don't worry. Police arrested him."

He does not mention that the guy has mysteriously vanished from the police station. No need to scare the hell out of his mother-hen brother, or the guy will walk all the way from California.

"I'm glad they've got him and that you're alright, Dean," Sam says, relieved.

"Yeah, no worries, man."

"Just be careful."

"Sure thing. You take care too Sammy. Ok, man, gotta go do some painting."

His brother promises to see him soon and Dean disconnects the call.

* * *

In the afternoon Dean gets a visitor. It's Gordon Walker. Dean can see that the guy is confused as hell. He gives a coffee mug to the agent and they sit down on the couch for a short talk. Gordon tells him every detail of the incident and they both sit in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"We can put patrol near your house for a few days and watch to see if he returns," Gordon offers his host.

Both men know that it's futile when they are facing a guy that seems to have a teleportation ability.

"Yeah, I guess that's a good option." Dean taps his fingers on his knee. What else can they do? Nothing much.

Gordon leaves after fifteen minutes and Dean is left alone with his thoughts. He quickly washes the mugs and goes to his studio. He needs to start painting, for God's sake. The time is pressing.

* * *

Dean Winchester stubbornly stares at the white canvas in front of him for hours, trying to get to work. His mind apparently has other ideas. Inspiration does not come. Where is that bitch that humans call 'muse'? Where the hell is she when she is needed the most?

No, this is not working. If he stares at the blankness before him, he will go crazy for sure. So he decides to go out and search for the inspiration he needs.

He tries many weird places: parks, abandoned and ruined buildings, cemeteries. Nothing works. His head hurts terribly. What is he going to do if he isn't able to finish the painting in time? He cannot let Crowley down. No way in Hell.

It is 7 pm when Dean finally gives up and goes to the nearest bar. He needs a couple of beers and maybe one or two shots of Whiskey.

The bar is crowded tonight. Different voices, laughter, and music is all mixed up. Dean spots a free chair near the bar counter and quickly goes to it.

He's having his third shot of Whiskey when a pretty blonde sits next to him, giving the painter a lustful smile and a wink.

"Hello there, gorgeous," she purrs, devouring him with her eyes. She just looks like any other female: ready to be mounted.

"Hi." Dean winks at her. Fuck it. At least he's lucky at the moment.

She leans forward, her lips almost touching Dean's ear and whispers, "Want to go somewhere else, honey?"

Dean turns to face her and opens his mouth to say 'Yeah, why not?' when something gets his attention and he looks behind her, towards the pool table.

This is not possible! It must be his tipsy state and clouded mind, otherwise there's not a chance in Hell that a naked, blue-eyed man would be standing in the crowded bar staring back at him.

Have you ever tried to negotiate with your panicked mind, telling it to calm the fuck down and succeeded? Well, Dean Winchester cannot brag that he has succeeded, either.

"I'm sorry, maybe next time." He quickly drops some money on the counter for the barman and runs out of the bar at a break-neck speed, like all the demons of Hell are after him.

He does not give a shit that cops might arrest him for drunk driving and starts the engine. The Impala's tires screech and leave a black, burned rubber trace on the concrete as the car disappears in the darkness of the night.

Dean's hands slightly shake on the steering wheel and every few seconds he checks the rearview mirror, as if he expects a monster in the backseat that will jump at him and tear into shreds.

* * *

As he gets to his house and spots a patrol car nearby, his rapidly pounding heart starts to calm down and Dean puts a nonchalance mask on, to show the whole world and mostly the cops in the car that he's perfectly fine.

He does not know what is to blame, alcohol or self-assuring, but by the time he fumbles with the keys at the front door, he really feels more relaxed. He turns the lights on and tightly holds the paper bag he's holding, which contain some cold burgers.

As Dean finishes locking the door once he gets in the house, he turns around and the paper bag falls from his hand and hits the floor. The painter leans against the door in shock. He is not prepared for the sight before his own eyes.

Of course it's the naked, stalker guy, who currently stands in the middle of the room, holding a red blanket. His gaze is intent on the material like he wants to smite the thing. He does not even notice that Dean is in the room or that the lights are on.

Dean is astonished. He cannot move, shout, whisper or do anything at all. He just stares at the creepy guy in front of him. And that's when the stalker senses that he's not alone. He lowers the hand that still holdis the blanket and looks down at the floor.

Dean finally finds enough strength to choke out a single word. "You…" he hisses.

The man nods and lifts his gaze from the floor. Blue-eyes look at the painter and chilling cold runs down his spine once again.

Dean does not know which one is worse: the piercing, burning glare or the deep, gravelly voice that says:

"Hello, Dean…"

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dean's knees buckle and he's about to fall. His fingers tremble and his nails start scratching the door in a futile attempt to unlock it. He's too shocked to turn around or maybe hypnotized by the burning gaze of this weird stranger. In the moment of his paralysis, Dean completely forgets that his mobile is in his pocket. Meanwhile, the naked stalker makes a step towards him.

"Don't you fucking dare!" the painter growls.

He does not expect that the naked guy will listen to him, but strangely he obeys and does not make another step.

"How did you get in here?" Dean's confidence grows and he glares daggers at the stranger.

"I can get in anytime I want and you cannot stop me."

"Bullshit. I want you to get the hell out of here. The cops are outside and it will take a single call before they get in and drag you back to the station." Dean knows that it's a lame warning, but he must try to scare this weirdo somehow.

The blue eyes study him for a moment before he speaks again. "You know it will not help, and even if they come inside they will not be able to see me."

Dean swallows hard as the familiar chilling cold wraps its arms around his body. "Why?" he manages to croak.

"Because I can turn invisible anytime I want," the stalker says, tilting his head.

The nervous laugh which Dean lets out sounds more like a whimper. "Oh, really? Then why didn't you turn invisible when they arrested you?"

The naked guy stops staring at him and his gaze falls to the carpet. "You humans are interesting. I've never interacted with you before, and I was simply curious."

Dean knows it's getting more awkward with each second. He needs this to be over, once and for all. He removes himself from the door and raises his hands.

"Look, I don't know who you are and I don't care. Maybe you're another David Copperfield with some crazy skills. Just stop stalking me, do you understand? And why the hell are you naked anyway? Is that some kind of a kink?" Dean is surprised that he has not stuttered during this speech.

The stalker frowns and looks down at himself, as if it's the first time he noticed he was naked.

"We do not need clothes," he replies shortly.

"We?" Dean arches his brow."Who is '_we'_ ?"

"Angels. We do not need to wear clothes."

Ok, maybe this guy has some mental disorders? What if he really knows one or two magic tricks and uses them to scare people? What if he pulled a trick at the police station, making them believe that he vanished? Yeah, that might be what happened. But _Angels_? Right, sure.

Dean clears his throat and tries to sound as friendly as possible. "Look, what was your name again?"

"Castiel," the voice rasps.

"Right, Cas." Dean stops at the realization that he's just given a nickname to the stalker, but decides to go on nevertheless. "Angels don't exist. It's just a nice fairytale for kids so they can sleep well at night. I've never seen an angel in my entire life or felt them watching over me, so it's not real." Dean gives a tense look to the guy and tries to figure out his thoughts.

Castiel closes his eyes and then smiles. "Are you telling me that I do not exist, Dean?"

The painter groans quietly. Damn it! He's getting bored and anxious with all this shit. "You are not an angel, God damn it!" he growls.

Castiel's eyes snap open and he turns his head towards Dean. "Do you want me to prove it to you?" His voice is cold and sharp.

"Fine. Prove it. And when you fail, and I'm pretty sure you will, you need to get the hell out of my house and never come back!" Dean barks at him furiously.

The last words barely escape Dean's mouth when something unimaginable starts to happen. The whole house starts to shake. Old wooden walls creak and groan; a light bulb explodes, sending the shatters all around; the mirror, windows, and ceramic statues shatter with terrifying speed and Dean has to cover his head to avoid serious injuries. It seems that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse ride through his house and howling wind escorts them.

"_Where the hell are the cops? How come they can't see all this crap?" _ Dean thinks, shocked while he looks at the window, which exploded a few seconds ago.

Castiel seems to sense his thoughts as he answers, "They are sleeping in the car and will not wake up till morning. No one can hear the noise from your house. I took necessary measures."

Street lamps and the full moon provide sufficient light and Dean can see that Castiel stands in the epicenter of this sudden storm in his home without moving or even flinching. He looks peaceful and somehow content. In the next few seconds he extends his hands alongside his body and Dean can swear by God's name that he sees tremendous wings expand behind Castiel's back.

Dean is on the edge of passing out. He has seen these wings before. Of course he has seen them in his nightmare. Meanwhile Castiel's wings extend and reach the ceiling. The tips of the wings scrape against it and plaster falls bit by bit.

"Is this enough, or should I show you more?" Castiel's voice is more powerful than a wind howling.

Dean slowly slides down the wall. His ears ring as blood rushes through his system. So, this is it then? No one escapes death, it's impossible.

"Stop it, please. It's enough." Dean cannot recognize his own voice.

Immediately all the paranormal activities cease. Castiel's wings lower and fold behind his back. The tips of the feathers poke small holes into the carpet. A heavy book called Mythological Lexicon thuds in front of Dean as the last remain of chaotic events.

The painter takes his gaze off of the book and looks at Castiel, who stands motionless like a marble statue. Dean blinks once, then again, and laughs. His laughter is desperate and hysterical. He looks like a madman in his death hour.

"Why are you laughing?" Castiel stares at him, confused.

"Because I'm about to be killed by a friggin bird-man." Dean answers breathlessly, wiping some stray tears off his cheeks that escaped during his fit of hysteria.

"Do I look like a bird to you?" Dean catches a small amount of resentment in his voice.

Oh this is funny. If he was going to be a dead man in the next few minutes, why not die like a man? So, Dean summons his bravado and decides to act like an asshole.

"Yeah. You look like an ugly, crackass motherfucking bird to me. Maybe a raven? Hell, yeah, why not? Go on, why don't you flap your wings and caw like that damn bird? Or maybe you wanna fly over and shit on my head?" Dean's calm tone turns into yelling.

This is enough to withdraw Castiel from his stupor and in the blink of an eye he invades Dean's personal space. Dean can see the thunder and lightning flashing behind Castiel's eyes, winds of abyss spinning in a whirlwind and his body spasms when the reaper's cold, lean fingers grab his throat and raise him in the air. Dean makes choking sounds when the air stops entering his lungs. The only thing he can see is blue oblivion before him.

"You should show me some respect!" Castiel growls, not loosening his grip on the painter's throat.

Dean's eyes roll in the back of his head and it takes all of his strength to mutter, "Finish it."

Suddenly Castiel lets go of his grip on his throat and Dean collapses on the floor. Fast and deep inhalation burns his lungs and he's thrown into a violent coughing fit. Finally he raises his head to look at Castiel, who is looking down at him with a quizzical expression.

"Why did you stop, you son of a bitch?" Dean snarls at him. "You want to torture me before you take my soul? You sadistic piece of shit! Go on, what are you waiting for, kill me!"

"You have unfinished business," Castiel says with a perfect poker face.

Dean rubs his throat as his coughing finally stops. Unfinished business? What is he talking about? The painter's stressed mind cannot fathom the meaning of these words.

"What are you talking about?" Dean's voice sounds hoarse.

Castiel makes a small huff and turns his back to the painter. He makes a few steps towards the wall and stops without turning around.

Dean stands on his knees, his left hand pressed to the floor while with his right hand he tries to soothe the pain around his neck left by Castiel's grip. As soon as Castiel starts to walk towards the wall, the painter stops his movements and just stares.

The wings. They are glorious and intimidating at the same time. Dean does not know if there is a specific word that can describe how dark they are. The train of his thoughts derails when Castiel reacts. He points at the painting on the wall.

"You have promised a painting to someone."

Dean feels like someone slammed the breaks in his mind. Damn it! The friggin' painting. How could he forget?

"Yeah, I have a painting to do for a customer. He already paid the whole amount and I…I can't let him down." Dean knows it sounds crazy, because reapers don't give a damn about your lame excuses to save your sorry life.

Castiel turns around and his wings slightly twitch. "When are you supposed to give the painting to him?" His voice is calm.

Dean calculates quickly in his mind. Crowley's party is on seventh of June, so eleven days are left and he has not done anything at all yet.

"In eleven days," Dean mumbles quietly.

And then Castiel does something unbelievable. He is not sure himself of the reason. But the tugging sensation at his grace urges him to say the following words. "Fine. You have eleven days. Then I will take your soul."

Dean opens and closes his mouth like a fish thrown out of the ocean. He is not sure what the hell has just happened, or how, but he knows that he has eleven more days. "Um…So I guess you'll come back in eleven days?" he asks weakly.

Castiel stops plucking the bits of plaster out of his hair and slowly shakes his head. "No, Dean. I am staying with you."

With these words he sits on the couch, his back perfectly straight and his hands resting in his lap while his huge wings try to find most comfortable position.

**To be continued…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dean thinks that he mishears something here. "Come again?" He stares at the reaper, whose intention seems to be to eventually become a nude statue.

"You heard me, Dean. I will stay here until you finish what you must." The black wings twitch slightly.

There are protesting words that scream in the painter's mind, mostly that he doesn't want this creepy stalker in his house. He gets ready to object, but something quite opposite comes out of his mouth.

"Alright."

Dean gulps and thinks that he must be losing his mind. He presses fingers to his temples and starts to massage them to soothe the beginning migraine. This is something new: to think one thing and say another.

Castiel, on other hand, looks quite satisfied. His curious eyes roam around the room, studying its devastated and disastrous state.

"I must apologize for all the wreckage. The manifestation of our wings can cause damage to the surroundings." Castiel says softly.

"No shit. Extra expenses, that's just what I need right now," Dean spits, his voice full of sarcasm.

"I can fix it." Castiel stands up and moves away from the couch.

As the reaper makes steps forward, Dean steps back until his back is glued against the door once more. The painter's mouth goes dry as Castiel invades his personal space, tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

"I am just fixing the windows," he murmurs after studying Dean's face.

The painter nods and praises God as Castiel moves away from him. It does not take more than few seconds before all the shattered glass is back to normal and the light bulb lights up again.

Despite his fear, Dean can't help but chuckle with amusement after everything is fixed. Castiel stands in the middle of the room, biting his bottom lip, while his face shows deep concentration. Like he's trying to analyze if he has fixed everything.

"Umm, thank you." Dean says awkwardly.

The reaper's lips quirk up into a small smile. "You are welcome, Dean."

So, the windows and the light bulb are fixed, room is cleaned up, and the reaper will stay with him. What else?

Dean thinks he might get smote after he blurts out: "If you are staying here, I have some rule you're going to have to follow."

What's the point of making rules? Why does everybody try to make the rules when they will be broken anyway?

Castiel slightly frowns and the painter can see how his wings start to fold and disappear. "What rules?" the reaper asks quietly.

"Nothing special," Dean adds quickly. "You need to wear some clothes. I don't want anyone to see you roaming around the house with your naked ass."

"We do not wear clothes and I do not have them," Castiel informs him.

"I'll give you some of mine," the painter offers weakly. And as he imagines the reaper in his own clothes he can't help but laugh.

"Is there something funny?" The angel looks puzzled.

"Oh no, no. It's nothing." Dean hurriedly waves his hands. "I'll go and get something for you." He goes to his bedroom, leaving Castiel on the couch.

The painter has observant eyes and his mind quickly makes the choice. Dean takes a light blue T-shirt and black jeans out. Considering Castiel's lean frame the pants should fit him fine. Dean could wear them a few years ago, but he's gotten beefier since then and now isn't able to squeeze into them. The painter hesitates for a moment, and then grabs some socks and underwear as well.

When he returns to the living room, Castiel has something in his hands and looks at it attentively.

"Who is this?" he asks as he turns his head to Dean.

The painter approaches him and looks down at the thing in Castiel's hands. It is a framed photo of Dean and his brother. They are standing at a small lake and clinking beer bottles. Both brothers are laughing and look happy.

"That's my younger brother, Sam." Dean's voice breaks a little at the end. He knows that he does not have much more time with his brother and deep sorrow seizes him.

Castiel senses the change in Dean's mood and looks at him. "You have a strong bond with your brother. I can see that you worry about him a lot and you feel alone here."

Dean flinches as the reaper speaks the truth. After Sam left for his studies, the house became empty and only the silence is Dean's frequent guest.

"Right. I brought you some clothes," Dean says, changing the subject. He hands the clothes to Castiel. "Do you know how to put them on?" The painter cannot help chuckling as the angel examines the clothes incredulously.

"I am afraid I don't know. What is this?" Castiel raises the dark blue boxers.

Dean's chuckle turns into a laughter that quickly subsides. "Underwear. You wear it under the pants. Under that black thing, I mean."

Castiel shakes his head and throws the underwear aside. "This will do. Can you show me how to do it properly?" he stares at Dean.

The painter scratches his head. This is funny and awkward at the same time. He hesitates with the decision for some time, but in the end chooses to help Castiel.

"Alright. Place one leg in the leg of the pants, so it goes out the hole at the bottom. Yeah, like that. Now, do the same for another leg." Dean's face is flushed as he's squatting and holding the jeans for Castiel, as if he were a three year old child needing help getting dressed.

As soon as both legs are through, Dean pulls Castiel's pants up and tries not to pay attention when his fingers come into a contact with the reaper's skin as he buttons and zips the fly.

Putting on the T-shirt goes much smoother and Dean is really glad about that. The painter snorts as Castiel's ruffled head pops out of the blue cotton. He looks like a lost puppy and Dean is overwhelmed with an urge to pat his head. But he doesn't, of course.

"There you go," the reaper's host says, examining Castiel's look thoroughly.

Dean picks up the underwear and rejected socks and takes them back to his room.

As soon as he walks out he yelps as Castiel unexpectedly bumps into him. Damn, the guy is really creepy.

"I'm not going to run away. Stop following me everywhere," Dean hisses while trying to slow his rapid heartbeat.

"I want to see the place where you paint," Castiel tells him. He has a vague smile dancing on his lips. Dean follows his gaze and smirks when he notices Castiel wiggling his toes.

"Sure. I'll show you." He leads the reaper to his saloon.

As soon as Castiel walks in, Dean can swear that something changes in the air. The paintings shine with ethereal light and shimmer mysteriously. Dean can hear distant whispers and voices, rustling of dried up leaves falling on the old stone stairs, which lead through a secret garden.

Castiel glances at the white canvas in the middle of the room. His fingers delicately touch the surface, brushing against it tenderly.

"You have no inspiration." His deep voice startles Dean and the painter admits that the angel is right once again.

"I need to paint it, but I just can't. You're right, I've just got no muse, no inspiration at all. I don't know why, but if I don't paint it in time, Crowley will shoot me for sure." Dean sits on his working chair, looking at some brushes absentmindedly.

"You will have the painting done before the hand-over date," the reaper announces with such a confidence that Dean actually believes him.

"I hope so. Otherwise I'm dead." Dean realizes his dilemma and barks out a laugh. He's dead anyway. Does it matter who kills him, Castiel or Crowley?

It's late and Dean feels exhausted. He wants to crawl into his bed and sleep. Just sleep, so he doesn't have to start thinking about anything.

"Cas," he begins carefully. "It's late and I need to sleep. I'm tired and want to go to bed. Do you mind? I understand that this is all new for you and you want to know as much as possible, but can't it wait till tomorrow?" The painter yawns in earnest.

Castiel has dipped his fingers in some paints and smells them. The tip of his tongue gingerly touches and licks his finger covered in the green paint. Apparently the reaper does not like the taste, as he frowns.

'_He's just like a little kid,'_ Dean thinks to himself and grabs a rug to wipe the paint off of Castiel's mouth and fingers.

"I believe so. We could continue tomorrow." Castiel agrees and takes one last look at the walls decorated with Dean's paintings. "They are beautiful," he says before exiting the saloon.

Dean is not sure if angels sleep at all, but he says anyway, "You can sleep in Sam's bedroom. I can make…"

"No. thank you," Castiel interrupts him. "We do not sleep, Dean."

Well, alright. If he does not need to sleep, that's fine with Dean. But what is Castiel going to do for the whole night? Many hours are left 'til morning. Maybe he could watch TV? But then Dean remembers that Castiel has no idea what a TV is and the painter isn't sure the reaper won't try to smite the thing.

"It's 1 am. I wake up at eight. What are you going to do for seven hours?" Dean asks doubtfully.

Castiel turns around from the couch to face the painter. He can perfectly sense that Dean has suspicions, is not a hundred percent sure that Castiel won't kill him while he's sleeping.

"Dean, I will not take your soul while you are sleeping. I made a promise," he says calmly.

"Right. So, what are you going to do for the whole night?" Dean repeats his question before going to his bedroom.

"I'll just wait here."

The painter nods and closes the door behind him. As the door creaks, Dean is seized by a violent and silent laughter.

**To be continued**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

In the following days, Dean discovers that spending the remaining days of his life with Castiel living in his house is not that bad. Hell, it's even hilarious.

As soon as the painter wakes up the next morning, he notices that his body feels relaxed and refreshed. He gets out of the bed and stretches while yawning. He starts whistling and heads to take a shower. In the middle of the process he remembers that he's got a reaper in the living room and swears.

Castiel sits perfectly still on the couch as his eyes try to drill holes in the TV screen. It is not switched on and Dean muses why the reaper is staring at it so intently.

"Good morning," Dean mumbles.

"Good morning, Dean." Castiel gives him a small nod without taking his eyes off of the screen. "What is this box?" he adds after few seconds.

The painter scratches his head and wonders how best to explain. "It's called a TV. You can watch a lot of things with its help. You want to try?" He turns the TV on after Castiel gives his consent.

The painter chuckles when Castiel's face shows utter astonishment. The reaper is watching Animal Planet and the program is about lions. The reaper's mouth is slightly open and his eyes shine with a blue light.

"Right. I'll go to the kitchen and make some breakfast," Dean mutters and shuffles towards the kitchen.

After five minutes, he returns to the living room and he freezes where he stands: Castiel fumbles behind the TV and Dean can hear some scratching and panting.

"What are you doing?" Dean stares at Castiel's back (well, ass to be precise), while the reaper is bent over the TV.

The angel straightens immediately and gives the painter a miserable, 'please help me' look.

"I cannot open it," Castiel huffs, glaring at the TV angrily.

"Why…why would you want to open it?" Dean cannot think of any logical explanation.

"I want to take them out and comfort them while their mother is gone." Castiel points at the small lion cubs on the screen. "They are frightened. And how did those animals get in this box?"

"Oh…" Dean does not know what to say. He tries his best not to laugh but he can't help it. Then an idea comes to his mind. He knows that he's an asshole for doing it, but Castiel's face is just priceless and Dean decides to have some more fun.

"Well, you see, they were born in this box and grew up in it. It's their home and their mother wouldn't like you taking her cubs out. So, it's good that you couldn't open the box."

And Dean Winchester feels he's the most horrible bastard in the whole world when he sees Castiel's crestfallen face.

"I have not thought about that." The reaper whispers quietly. He looks down in embarrassment.

Dean feels guilty and swallows the lump in his throat. He feels like he has kicked a puppy. "Alright, let's go to the kitchen. Oh, here comes the mama. The cubs are happy, see?" Dean points at the screen and feels a little bit better when Castiel's face lights up.

* * *

Dean fries eggs, sausages, and bacon together and it smells heavenly. He puts half of it on Castiel's plate and the remaining half on his own. He gets mayo and ketchup out of the fridge and some bread.

Castiel cautiously smells his plate and mimics Dean: pokes the ingredients with the fork.

"It's called food, Cas. Humans need to eat." Dean grins at the reaper.

"We do not need to eat." Castiel stares at his fork, wondering what to do with it.

"Just try it. You'll like it, I'm sure you will." Dean's voice sounds muffled, as his mouth is full of food.

The reaper finally decides that it is ok to taste the food and puts small bits of eggs and bacon into his mouth. He chews for few seconds and stops. Dean can see that the reaper tries to decide whether he likes the food or not.

"I like it." He finally announces, and then eats the rest of his breakfast.

"I was sure you would. I'm an awesome cook." Dean smirks at him and unplugs the coffee maker from the socket. He pours hot, steaming black coffee into their mugs. Dean likes bitter, strong coffee without adding anything else to it.

"If it tastes bitter, you can always add sugar and cream," Dean assures Castiel and gestures to him to taste the liquid.

Castiel carefully sips his coffee and grimaces. Apparently the reaper does not like the bitter taste of it.

"Here, add this." Dean gives him some sugar and cream.

Castiel adds all six packets of sugar and three small cups of cream to his coffee and after some stirring takes a sip. He hums and smiles. "Now it's better."

Dean snorts and shakes his head. For him it would taste like crap. "Dude, how can you drink it with so much crap in it? It's not even coffee anymore."

The angel's only answer is a small, purring sound that emits from his throat as he closes his eyes in contentment.

"Whatever," Dean mumbles and takes his plate to the sink to wash it. He does not touch Castiel's plate, as the reaper has not finished eating yet.

"How do you make this thing?" Dean hears Castiel voice as he opens the tap.

The painter turns around. "What thing? Coffee?"

"Yes. How do you make it?" Castiel's curious eyes are staring at him.

Dean grins again. Oh, this is so much fun. He points at the coffee maker. "You see the tail of this thing?" He points to the cord of the coffee maker.

"I have a small beast that lives in the wall. Whenever I want coffee, all I have to do is stick this tail into those small holes, which you can see on the wall, and the beast will do the rest."

"So, the beast makes coffee for you?" Castiel looks really confused.

"Yeah." Dean nods and takes Castiel's mug to wash it.

The water barely touches the mug when something begins to hiss and buzz, then some sparks fly around and a light bulb explodes. Dean yelps in fear and turns around only to witness far more astonishing sight: Castiel stands near the table with his hair ruffled, sticking out in every direction and smoking. The angel's face is soot-stained and his eyes look scared. Even his clothes are smoking.

"What the hell did you do?" Dean hisses at him as he puts the mug in the sink.

"I…I wanted to take a closer look at the beast and tried to widen one of the holes with this." Castiel opens his fist and the painter can see a concrete nail in his palm, which he always forgets to take from the fruit vase that stands on the kitchen table.

"Jesus…." Dean mumbles and steps forward to check Castiel's appearance more thoroughly.

"Do you know that, if a human did that, they would be dead in an instant?" Dean does not realize at first that he has just shouted at the reaper.

Castiel understands that he's done something stupid and bites his lip. Human life is not easy, he decides. It's full of dangers and one has to be very careful not to make a fatal mistake.

"I am sorry," the angel mumbles and puts the nail on the table. His shoulders are slumped and he looks hurt.

Dean is finally convinced that in a past life he was a heartless son of a bitch and that the past life's traits have rubbed off on him as he looks at Castiel's dejected face.

He takes a deep breath and tries to speak as calmly as possible. "It's alright. Go watch some more animals while I check the breaker box."

* * *

As Dean opens the box to check for damage, he sighs in relief: nothing major is broken and it does not take long to fix the problem by clicking some of the switches to the 'on' position.

"Do me a favor, don't touch anything without asking first," he adds with a small smile after entering the living room, where Castiel still watches Animal Planet with an immense fascination.

The reaper nods and shifts on the couch awkwardly, still feeling uneasy from a previous incident.

"You need to wash your face. No, probably take a shower," Dean adds after few seconds. "Come on, I will show you how to do it."

* * *

The next two days Dean spends explaining to Castiel why humans need to do every simple little thing, like wash their clothes or vacuum the room. Dean laughs hysterically when the reaper is startled by the God damn awful sound the vacuum cleaner makes.

By the end of the day, Castiel knows that the flat thing that Dean often carries with him is called a mobile, that the fridge is for keeping the products that they eat, and that if you put your tongue on the white thing in the freezer your tongue will stick to it and it will piss off some painters (mostly named Dean).

It's been a tough day and Dean and his reaper sit on the couch when the doorbell rings. The painter gets up to open the door, grumbling in annoyance. He opens the door and is ready to make a snarky comment at whoever it might be when he stills in the doorway.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes widen as his younger (but giant) brother grins at him sheepishly.

"Hey, Dean. I wanted to surprise you." Sam's eyes sparkle as he speaks.

"You, bitch…" Dean grins and crushes his silly little brother into a bear hug.

Finally they break apart and Sam walks into their house. He inhales the old, familiar scent and hums.

"Home, sweet home," he laughs softly, but stops abruptly as he sees a blue-eyed stranger on the couch, who looks at him with a studying gaze.

**To be continued**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sam shifts uncomfortably under the stranger's ardent gaze, but stands still like he has rooted to the spot. The small, black duffel bag is still in his hands.

Dean locks the door and when he turns around he sees his brother has not moved since he walked in.

"Something's wrong?" Dean asks him as tries to look through the doorway, which is currently occupied by his giant brother.

"Who is this guy?" Sam whispers very quietly, barely moving his lips so only Dean can hear him. And Dean remembers that Castiel is in the living room.

Shit!

Castiel still catches the whispered words. Must be his celestial nature, since for humans it would be impossible to hear from such a distance.

"My name is Castiel. I am an ang…" He never finishes.

"Shut up, Cas!" Dean yells desperately and unexpectedly, startling Sam. Castiel closes his mouth and shifts on the couch.

There's no need for Sam to hear all this crap about reapers, or Dean's inevitable death, or any of the rest of it. The painter slightly pushes his brother into the living room and follows him.

"Ok, this is my brother Sam and this is Cas. He is…..he's my friend." Dean swallows nervously and glances at Castiel. The reaper gets the clue and gives a small nod.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," he reaches his hand out. Dean has taught him that it is a human gesture to do when they meet someone new.

Sam has a lot of questions bustling through his mind, like: why is this guy wearing his brother's clothes, why is he barefoot, and the main question, what is he doing here?

The questions can wait and the younger Winchester shakes Castiel's hand. It's a usual handshake but still, there is something cryptic in it. A small shiver crawls down Sam's spine as he holds Castiel's hand. The reaper apparently senses it and withdraws his hand.

"So, how long you gonna stay, Samantha?" Dean tries to break the tension and pokes his brother in the ribs.

"I..uh, I have to go back tomorrow evening," Sam blurts out, already knowing that Dean will freak out. As always, his guess is correct.

"What? What the hell, Sam? I haven't seen you for ages, man," Dean exclaims. His face shows hurt and disbelief.

"I know, Dean. I'm sorry. We're getting ready for the finals and I'm under a lot of stress. I promise, as soon as I'm done with exams, I'll be back." Sam's eyes are full of sincerity and regret.

Dean snorts, as he knows he does not have much time left. Even so, he doesn't make any remarks about it.

"Right, give me your bag I'll take it to your room. Are you hungry? I've got some pizza and beers. Or maybe you want something else to eat? I can cook something real fast." Dean takes the bag and is ready to go upstairs when Sam's hand grabs his arm.

"I'm fine, Dean. Stop being a mother-hen." He grins at his brother. "I'll just go to bed if you don't mind. I am really exhausted. See you in the morning, I guess. Good night Dean, Castiel." Sam gives them a small smile before heading to his bedroom.

When he is out of the sight, Dean turns to Castiel and raises his finger warningly. "If you mention to him that you're a reaper, I'm gonna pluck your feathers out one by one!"

Castiel gives him a curious look and tilts his head. "You would not be able to do that," he states calmly.

"And why is that?" Dean quits pacing back and forth and stops in front of Castiel.

"Humans do not have enough strength to pull them out," the angel answers with a slightly amused tone and Dean can see a faint smile dancing on his lips.

The painter decides not to give in so easily. "Fine. Then I'll kick your feathery ass."

Castiel's amused expression is replaced by a puzzled one. He frowns deeply before answering. "But I do not have feathers on my ass."

The painter can't help but burst into laughter as he looks at Castiel's priceless expression.

"Did I say something funny?" the reaper asks doubtfully.

"No, nothing. Just forget it," Dean moans as he tries to subdue his laughing.

Castiel just shakes his head and stands up from the couch. "You are a very strange man, Dean Winchester. But I like it," he says and there is some fondness in his voice. The reaper walks to the window to take a look at the street. Surprisingly, it's very quiet outside.

"I am glad you told Gordon to call them off." Castiel taps his fingers against the glass.

Dean realizes the angel means the cops in the police car that were watching over his house. "Yeah, there's no point in it. I'd rather them go and do something useful than waste their time outside my house." Dean lets out a small sigh and rubs his face.

"Go to bed, Dean." Castiel turns around to face him. "You are exhausted."

* * *

The next day, Dean wakes up feeling generous and he decides to cook his special meal – Spaghetti Carbonnara for dinner. He pushes Sam out of the kitchen, grumbling, though his brother only wanted to help. Dean doesn't like it when there are extra people in the kitchen while he cooks.

So Sam returns to the living room and sits next to Castiel, who watches his favorite Animal Planet channel again. The younger brother smirks and decides it's time to get to know the guy better.

"Um, Castiel, you seem kind of shy, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Sam starts gently.

The reaper nods, but does not take his gaze off of the screen, where a huge alligator is tearing its prey apart.

"Ok. So, how long have you…I mean you and my brother…." Sam stutters as his face heats up and he feels awkward. What if he's wrong and nothing is happening between Dean and this guy? Maybe they are just friends?

"I have known him for a long time, but I started to live with him in this house only a few days ago," Castiel answers, perfectly calm.

This does nothing but redden Sam's face even more. Wow, so his brother is in a relationship with the guy. And Sam always thought Dean was a ladies' man.

"Why are you wearing Dean's clothes?" The younger Winchester's confused mind can't come up with a better question.

The reaper turns the TV off as Dean has taught him and glances at Sam, who feels violated under the burning gaze. "I do not have my own and I like to wear Dean's clothes. I like the scent."

"The scent?" Sam asks sheepishly.

"Yes. They have Dean's scent on them," Castiel says, expressionless.

Sam Winchester does not know how to feel about the whole situation. He finds it really awkward, but also amusing at the same time. His thinking process is interrupted by Dean's yell from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

* * *

Castiel perfectly mimics Dean and his brother while eating spaghetti. He holds his fork and wraps spaghetti around it neatly. The food tastes delicious and Castiel hums.

"I like it when you cook, Dean," he says sincerely and does not notice Dean's instantly reddened face or a wicked grin on Sam's lips.

Sam helps his brother with the plates and as they put them in the sink, the painter's 'little pain in the ass of a brother' grins widely and taps Dean on a shoulder. "He's a strange guy but I like him. Good choice." Sam winks at him and walks out of the kitchen, before Dean can come to his senses to make a snarky comeback. "I'll go and get some beers from the shop. There's only one bottle left in the fridge," Sam shouts from the other room.

"Go to Charlie's across the street. They also have the best apple pie in the whole town," Dean yells back.

Sam chuckles. Dean and his immense love for pies. He often wonders how his brother has not already become diabetic. But Sam always gets him a pie, no matter what.

"Ok. I'll be back soon." The younger Winchester walks outside.

Dean finishes washing the plates and comes out of the kitchen. That is the exact moment Castiel chooses to come out of Dean's studio.

"I was bored," he explains plainly. "And your paintings have a relaxing effect."

Dean wants to bang his head against the wall as he remembers that he has not painted even a single line on the canvas for Crowley. His eyes darken as distress crawls into them.

"I told you, you will have your painting in time. Do you not trust me?" Castiel's voice sounds mighty, like thunder rolling in mountains.

"I…I do," the painter mumbles as he gulps and wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans.

The reaper nods. "Good."

Dean wants to say something, but a moment later the sound of screaming and a gun fills the air. They sound so near.

"Sam…" The painter instinctively thinks of his brother and runs to the front door. Castiel flinches as if he feels something bad is happening and follows his charge.

There are a few people gathered into a group and shouting, gesticulating agitatedly. The woman who works at the grocery shop is sobbing. "They just came in yelling and…and I gave them money, but they still started to shoot. The phone at my shop doesn't work. Someone call an ambulance," she chokes out finally.

As Dean covers the last remaining steps, people start to move aside and…..

No!

"Sam? Sammy?" he yells as he sees his younger brother lying in the pool of blood.

"De…Dean…" Sam rasps and starts to cough. Immediately, blood starts to pour from his mouth.

Dean drops down on his knees and grabs his brother. He lets out a painful howl. "Sammy, hold on. Don't you dare to die on me! You hear me? Don't you dare! Someone call the fucking ambulance!" Dean screams at the people as he holds Sam in his arms. And of course no one has a damn cell phone.

"It's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright, Sammy." Dean rocks back and forth when Castiel kneels beside him. "Cas, can you help him? Please, help him!" Dean looks at the reaper through his stinging tears as his body shakes from sobs.

Castiel takes a look at half unconscious Sam, and then looks around. He scans the surroundings for a few seconds before saying, "I do not see his personal angels at his side."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean chokes as he caresses Sam's head.

"It means he is not going to die, Dean, but…" Castiel stops and puts his hand on Sam's chest. "One bullet tore his left lung and the other one damaged his spine. He will be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life," the reaper finishes sorrowfully.

Dean's heart skips a beat at hearing the atrocious verdict. No, this can't happen. His brother is too young, damn it! Dean can't let it happen!

"No, no this isn't okay. Cas, please I beg you, do something. I have a feeling you can do something," the painter grabs the angel's wrist. "You can, can't you?"

Castiel bites his lip. He can do something, but it means he will have to break another rule. "You do not know what you are asking for, Dean. You are asking me to change his fate," the reaper says quietly.

"I've never begged anyone in my entire life. And I am begging you now, Castiel. Please…."

Castiel sees fathomless pain, caring, love, and devotion in the green eyes before him, and the angel shudders. He closes he's eyes and stills.

"Forgive me father, for I am about to sin…" he rasps and every hair on Dean Winchester's body stands on its end. Even Sam stops coughing to pay attention.

The air around them gets charged and the wind begins to howl. Dean knows what these signs mean and freezes in anticipation. "You may want to get out of here, if you don't want to die of fright," the painter tells the small group of people around them, startling them even more.

But there is not enough time for people to react as the tremendous, raven-black wings burst out of Castiel's back, while the angel is still like a marble statue with closed eyes.

The shop's owner Caroline screams and faints. The remaining three men let out frightened yells and fall on their knees, praying frantically. Dean forgets everything for a while as he watches Castiel, feeling as if he's in a trance. As for Sam, the younger brother is too shocked to do or say anything.

The sky turns black, thunder rolls, and lightning flashes. The sounds shake the earth and it is enough to wake Castiel from his catatonia.

"We do not have much time." The angel puts his palm on Sam's forehead.

Dean forgets how to breathe as the huge blood stain on Sam's T-shirt disappears only to appear on Castiel's. Sam's breathing gets less labored with each passing second and finally he inhales sharply.

"Dean? What's happening?" The younger Winchester sounds frightened.

As the last word is spoken, Castiel doubles over and he is thrown into a coughing fit. Dean sees the blood pouring from his mouth and starts to panic. He didn't think Castiel would get hurt trying to save Sam! The reaper's body spasms in pain and he groans.

But this is not the strangest thing. Castiel's coughing gets more desperate and then he spits out two bullets, which bounce off of the pavement.

The reaper looks up at the raging sky and bows his head. He knows what's coming. "You need to take your brother and get out of here immediately," he tells Dean. "And it concerns you too," Castiel tells the small group of praying people.

The painter nods and gulps nervously. Something is coming, something big and hideous. "Sammy, can you walk? We need to go." Dean grabs his brother's arm and helps him to his feet.

As soon as Dean wraps his arm around his brother's waist for better balance, there is a swooshing sound and two winged figures appear out of nowhere. The brothers yelp and take few steps back. The praying men simply faint.

The newcomers are very tall and of a solid build, their wings a dark crimson color, just like their cloaks. Castiel looks like a small child compared to them.

Dean's stomach churns when they stand on either side of Castiel and grab his arms. The painter does not miss the fear reflected in the reaper's blue eyes.

"Dean, go…" Castiel manages to whisper before the messengers drag him to God knows where.

Dean grabs his head and looks around. He's petrified. He may not realize fully what has happened, but he knows one thing for sure: Castiel has broken the rule and he is in a big trouble.

"Cas…." Dean's voice mutters hoarsely. The painter feels as if his heart just got stabbed with a knife and it will not stop bleeding.

**To be continued…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The clock on the wall ticks nonchalantly, announcing that it's 11 am. The brothers sit in the kitchen around the table. Their coffee already is cold, but neither of them wants to touch it. An hour has passed since they began to sit in silence.

Dean's fingers draw abstract patterns on the table while his mind is far away. Dean knows that it is crazy and absurd, but he has come to the final realization that he likes Castiel. During the days they have spent together, the painter has become attached to his reaper. Little, funny things Castiel had done or the naïve questions he would have asked would have been enough to throw Dean into laughter.

The painter lets out a small sigh and his heart starts to ache. '_Cas, where did they take you?'_ he thinks and can't help but cringe at the memories. Those red angels seemed furious and Dean is sure Castiel will be facing some serious troubles, judging by his frightened eyes.

"Dean," Sam's voice finally breaks the tension and the painter flinches. "Tell me everything," the younger brother demands calmly.

Dean takes a sip of his cold coffee and thinks for a while. What can he tell Sam? His brother has seen Castiel's wings, and the other angels too. Damn, even those people saw it all, so blaming it on a hallucination wouldn't work.

"What can I tell you, Sam? You saw it yourself." Dean's voice sounds hoarse.

Sam stares at his brother with narrowed eyes, like the answer is written on Dean's forehead in a very small font. The younger Winchester shakes his head in denial.

"I want to know what happened. Who is Castiel? Or what is he? Dean, I should be fucking dead, or handicapped at least, and there are no wounds on my body!" Sam's voice cracks in the end.

Dean finishes his coffee in one gulp and wipes his mouth. He knows what to say to his brother. "Cas is an angel. He's my personal angel." Dean does not concretize what type of angel he is.

"You mean, like a guardian angel?" Sam asks in disbelief.

"Yes," he lies, because Castiel is not quite that type of angel.

"But how…I mean why…" Sam stutters and laughs nervously.

Angels. This is ridiculous. How is this even possible? Sam's mind still cannot fathom the information. His older brother had never believed in the existence of angels, but now, here he was saying one was living with him!

"I don't know, Sam. He just appeared into my life and said he wanted to get to know his charge better," Dean answers quietly and fumbles in his pocket. "So, you are leaving in the evening?" Dean says to change the subject.

Sam nods. "The flight is at 8:30."

"Promise me one thing," Dean sounds tense. "That you will take care of yourself. 'Cause I don't think…" he wants to add that he does not think Cas will be able to help Sam again, but shuts his mouth. "Here, I want you to have this." He gives the spare house key to Sam.

Sam's brows knit together in confusion, but before he asks anything, Dean cuts in. "Trust me, you'll need it soon. I may go on a trip in a few days and I want you to come here when I give you a call. This is very important." Dean makes the slightest hint about his situation, but of course Sam would not understand it.

"Um…ok. No problem, I guess." Sam takes the keys with a small smile.

* * *

Castiel is thrown into a dark and damp cell. It's freezing inside and the reaper cannot see a thing. The door slams shut behind him and the keys rattle as they lock him in the cell.

The floor of the cell is wet and Castiel can hear how the water droplets bounce off the floor in a specific rhythm. The sounds come from the right side, so the reaper instinctively tries to move from the wetness.

Castiel puts his hands against the wall and gropingly tries to find a corner. After a few minutes, he succeeds. He smiles faintly when the corner is not wet and sits down, leaning his back against the stone wall.

The angel wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin on them. His mind goes back to Dean. Castiel thinks about what Dean might be doing in this particular moment. Probably sleeping or watching that miraculous box called a TV, or talking to his brother Sam.

Castiel knows he is in trouble because of Sam. But he knew this would happen if he helped Sam, so he cannot blame anyone but himself. And besides, Dean begged him for help. Castiel realizes that whenever he thinks of the painter, his heart starts to beat faster. The angel smells the T-shirt he's still wearing and caresses the material tenderly.

"Dean…" he whispers in the darkness.

* * *

After Sam leaves to catch his flight, Dean is left alone with his bitter, depressing thoughts. What is there left to do except to drink when you feel like shit like this? So Dean grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels.

He starts to drink, trying not to think about anything. But no matter how hard he tries, a certain person with piercing blue-eyes still invades his mind and vision.

"I'm sorry, Cas…" the painter mumbles as he stares at the ceiling. His right hand, which he holds the glass of whiskey with, noticeably trembles and spills the ingredients on the carpet.

* * *

Castiel loses track of time. He is not sure how many minutes, hours, or days have passed since he was thrown into this dungeon. The angel remembers his promise to Dean, that the painter would have his painting done in time. Castiel shudders, partly from the cold, but mostly from regret. Maybe the deadline expired a long time ago.

"I am sorry I let you down, Dean," the reaper says quietly and his eyes sadden.

But then the door of his cell opens and two angels – guards, walk in. They grab Castiel's arms painfully and drag him out. The reaper recognizes the way. It leads to the court room. So, there will be a trial. His trial!

The court room is a huge, white chamber with the marble columns. There is a big, red table at the back wall with thirteen chairs. The middle one, the golden chair, is empty while the rest are occupied by stern faced jurors. They give Castiel hateful looks.

The reaper is brought before them and the same red winged angels stand nearby, keeping their eyes on him.

"Castiel," one of the jurors hisses. His voice is sharper than Damascus steel and the reaper fidgets slightly. "Do you acknowledge and confess your crimes?" the voice rings like a medieval church bell announcing a misfortune.

"Yes, I do." Castiel bows his head.

"Do you regret making wrong choices and repent?"

Castiel clenches his fist and his knuckles turn white. He does not see a reason to lie, so he chooses to speak the truth. "I do understand what I have done, but no, I do not regret anything." Castiel lifts his gaze and looks at the jurors.

Indignant whispers fill the chamber. The jurors are displeased and angry at what he's said.

"Abomination!" one of them yells at Castiel.

"How dare you?" barks another one.

"Since when are you ashamed of your nudity, Castiel? Or have human life and customs rubbed off on you? You are a disgrace to the angels!"

Castiel just listens to their accusations. No reaper has broken the rules before him. He is the first – and the last, probably. His stomach flips when the jurors stand up and walk out of the chamber to make the decision.

Castiel feels the time has stretched unbearably. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days. Finally the door opens and twelve jurors walk in. They slowly take their places with predator smirks and their eyes blaze with an evil fire. The reaper's heart sinks with a bad presentiment.

"The court has made its final decision, and as your punishment you will receive fifty lashes from The Tamer," one of the jurors announces triumphantly. His voice cannot hide obvious merriment.

Castiel reels and almost falls. The Tamer? This is the special whip made from the fire of Hell, the only thing that can hurt angels. And fifty lashes? No, this cannot be happening! It's too brutal!

"But…but…" Castiel cannot finish from anxiety.

"Strip him!" the voice orders.

Two red winged angels tackle Castiel down to the floor. They rip the clothes off of him unceremoniously, despite the reaper's weak struggle. They haul him up to his feet once it's over.

As soon as he stands straight, something grabs his ankles. Castiel cries out in fear and looks down. There are chains with cuffs that hold his legs still. The reaper has no idea where they appeared from and he tries to move his feet, but in vain.

The red angels grab his arms and raise them towards the ceiling. Instantly massive, iron chains similar to the ones that hold his feet descend and angels lock the cuffs around Castiel's wrists.

Castiel is sure that beating of his heart can be heard outside of the chamber. His mouth is dry and his eyes are wide with fear. His breathing is heavy and labored.

"You should have been afraid earlier," chuckles one of the jurors, then he claps his hands. "Begin!"

Both angels go to the corner, where a golden treasure-chest stands, and they open it. They take steel gauntlets out and put them on their right hands. The steel covers their arms up to the elbows. Then, they take The Tamers out, one for each of them. The fire hisses and blazes, its sparks fly around and fall on the floor.

Castiel opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. He struggles against the chains but cannot break free. He's like a small butterfly caught in a giant spider's web.

The angels stand on either side of Castiel and look at the jurors. Twelve heads nod simultaneously…

* * *

Despite Castiel's efforts to stay quiet during his punishment it is impossible to do so. As the whips touch his back the reaper lets out a horrible scream.

The sparks scatter around and Castiel's flesh burns under the angels' onslaught. Their blows come almost simultaneous, with one or two seconds in between.

After thirty blows Castiel loses his voice from screaming. His head is hung limply while he stands in a small puddle of blood. His own blood.

"Father…" he moans as his back receives another blow. "Father, please…"

His father does not answer his pleas and Castiel knows he is alone. Tears stream down his face and he whimpers as the angels strike his back with the last twenty blows.

As they finish whipping Castiel, the chains disappear and the reaper falls on the floor. He is only half conscious from tremendous pain.

"Put those awful things back on him, as he is so fond of them!" a finger points at Castiel's clothes.

The material scratches his tormented body even more and Castiel sobs bitterly.

"Castiel, remember, if you break the rules again you will be destroyed immediately. As soon as you recover, you bring Dean Winchester's soul to us. Do you understand?" the angry voice asks.

Castiel does not answer. He's in agonized pain and only trembles on the floor.

"Send him back to Dean Winchester!" the voice orders and the angels grab Castiel once again.

* * *

Dean has fallen asleep on the couch. His face seems worried even in his sleep. Time to time small, pained groans escape his mouth. Judging from the painter's expression, he must be dreaming of something unpleasant. The bottle of Jack Daniels is half empty and stands near the couch.

The painter's sleep is interrupted as a thunderous crashing noise comes from the kitchen. Dean's eyes snap open and he jumps from the couch.

"What the fuck?" he hisses and grabs the bottle as he does not have anything else near to use as a weapon.

He is ready to attack the intruder with the raised bottle, but he freezes in the doorway when he recognizes the body writhing on the floor.

"Cas?"

The reaper lifts his head and stares at the painter. Dean can see the tears in those blue-eyes.

"Please, help me," Castiel rasps and his nails dig into the tiles.

Dean hurriedly puts the bottle on the table and kneels beside Castiel. "God, what did they do to you?" he mutters as he sees the blood stains getting bigger with every second on Castiel's back.

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Before Dean's eyes Castiel's light blue T-shirt turns red in a matter of seconds. The kitchen tiles, which the reaper has dug his fingers into, crack and break. Castiel must be going through an unbearable pain, as he writhes on the floor.

Dean is lost and astonished. He does not know what he is supposed to do. It's not like he meets tortured reapers every day.

The painter tries to be as gentle as possible and touches Castiel's shoulder slightly. He wants to say something comforting, but Castiel's pained sob makes him lose all the thoughts.

Alright, Dean knows that having Castiel lying on the floor will not help anything. He has to move Castiel to a more comfortable position in order to examine his wounds.

"Cas, can you walk?" he asks softly as he looks down at the trembling body.

"I…I am not sure," Castiel whines. His voice is muffled against the kitchen tiles.

"Ok, let's get you on your feet. Come on, big boy." Dean very gingerly places his hands under Castiel's armpits and when the angel does not make pained sounds, the painter slowly lifts and helps him stand straight. "That's it. You're doing great, Cas." Dean places some dislocated tiles back into their places with his foot, but as he does so Castiel sways and falls forward.

"Whoa, Cas!" The painter barely manages to catch the angel, but he has to touch his back to do so. As soon as his hands come into contact with the reaper's back, Castiel lets out a miserable whimper.

"Oh God, I'm sorry….But where should I touch you?" Dean groans desperately, but then an idea comes to his mind. "Lay across my shoulder." The painter slightly bends his knees so Castiel could do so.

Dean is amazed at how light Castiel feels across his shoulder as the painter carries him to the bedroom. The angel's arms hang loose and his face is pressed against Dean's back as they enter the room.

"Right, here we are, Cas. Hold on for a sec." Dean tries his best to lay Castiel on the bed as gently as possible.

And Dean realizes that he makes a mistake by lying Castiel on his bed. How the hell is he going to take the angel's clothes off of him now?

"Fuck!" Dean swears and grinds his teeth. His gaze falls on the nightstand and he quickly opens its drawer. He takes out a pair of scissors.

"Cas, are you with me?"

The angel shifts on the bed and moans. "_Maybe it would be better for him if he were unconscious,_" Dean thinks to himself.

"I'm gonna undress you, I need to see your wounds," he says quietly as he starts to cut the T-shirt.

Dean is not prepared for this. As soon as he parts the edges of the T-shirt, he makes a choking sound. Castiel's back is covered with horrible red gashes. The wounds are leaking blood and dear God….what is this sound? And oh, sweet heavens, Castiel's flesh is sizzling….

"Dean…" Castiel moans and tries to sit up, but the painter puts his hand on his head, holding him gently in the place.

"Cas, don't. Stay right here, I'll be back in a second." Dean jumps up to get some wet washcloths and the first aid kit.

When he returns, Castiel's face is turned towards him. The angel's lips are parted and his breathing is heavy. His eyes follow Dean's every movement.

The painter sits on the bed and tries to give his angel a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be alright, Cas. You'll be fine."

Dean starts to clean Castiel's wounds with a washcloth. The reaper's body radiates so much heat that Dean feels like he's standing in front of an oven. Castiel clutches the bed sheets when a washcloth touches his wounds. His body trembles and Dean can hear muffled sobs that the angel tries to hide, but the pain is too strong to combat.

"It's alright, let it go." Dean understands that Castiel is fighting and failing to control the pain. The painter finishes cleaning Castiel's back and puts some ointment on the wounds.

"Tell me what happened," he asks briefly as he puts more ointment on Castiel's back.

The reaper lets out a shuddering breath as the excruciating memories come back and flood his mind. "The guards dragged me to heaven and threw me in jail. I had to wait for my trial," Castiel begins with a hoarse voice.

"Your trial?" Dean stares at the angel with worried eyes.

"Yes. I broke the rules and I had to be punished. The jury decided to give me fifty lashes with The Tamer." The reaper's voice breaks near the end.

"What's The Tamer?" Dean gulps nervously, already knowing that the thing must be something bloodcurdling.

"It's….it's a special whip… made from the fire of Hell. This is the only thing that can cause the angels pain." Castiel's voice drops into a whisper.

Dean feels like a mountain has fallen upon him and he can't breathe. The painter rubs his face with a shaking hand. "I'm sorry, Cas. God knows, I'm really sorry. I never wanted you to get hurt."

Castiel gives him a small smile. "I know, Dean. My grace should heal the wounds completely by tomorrow night."

"That's nice…nice to hear. This must be hurting you a lot," Dean croaks.

"There was one thing that kept giving me the strength to endure the pain," Castiel says gently as he opens his eyes.

"What…what was it, Cas?" Dean can hear his heartbeat rise to the speed of a rocket.

The reaper opens his eyes and bottomless blue ocean meets the green galaxy. "It was you, Dean. You and the time I was able to spend with you."

Dean knows that this is the beginning of the end. There is no other name for it. The reaper has just confessed that he has definite feelings for the painter. And he'll be damned if Dean does not have feelings for the reaper as well.

Chick flick moments are quickly forgotten as Dean remembers something and frowns. "Cas, when they whipped you, did they strip you completely or…."

"Completely," Castiel cuts in.

"Oh, shit…" Dean stares down at the black jeans the angel is wearing. Castiel's buttocks and the backs of his legs could be covered with the same terrible wounds.

"I need to take these pants off of you." Dean sounds apologetic.

When the pants are taken off of the reaper and thrown aside, Dean is once again met with the familiar sight of the burning cuts and he has to go on for round two of trying to clean it.

Two hours have passed like two minutes since Dean has started to treat Castiel's wounds. The angel does not sob anymore, only whimpers from time to time. The painter looks at his naked body and thinks of Adonis sleeping on white silky sheets.

"_Christ, he is beautiful,_" Dean thinks to himself, ruthlessly killing the urge to reach his hand out and stroke Castiel from his nap, down to his tailbone. Dean has always considered himself being a ladies' man. Sure, when he was young there were one or two hook-ups with guys while he was drunk, but he doesn't count those. But looking at Castiel, his mind has different thoughts.

"Right, you can sleep here, Cas. Umm, I mean rest. I know you don't sleep." Dean laughs awkwardly and starts to get up from the bed, when Castiel's hand grabs his wrist. It's a strong hold but not painful.

"Please don't go, Dean," the reaper says quietly and his eyes plead the painter to stay.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, I'm not gonna go. Mommy's gonna stay right here." Dean can't help a small chuckle escaping his mouth. But it dies quickly when the angel speaks the following words:

"When they were whipping me, I prayed to my father for forgiveness, I begged him to stop the punishment, but he did not hear my pleas. No one cared that I could have died during the punishment. Everyone in the chamber hated me and wanted my death. I thought I was all alone but then…then your face started to surface in my mind. And the last twenty blows were more or less bearable, while I could see your face. Do not leave me, Dean. Please…"

Dean is rendered speechless. He has listened to many confessions before, mostly from women when they were cheating on their husbands with him, or some drunken confessions from his friends, but this is the most intimate one he has ever heard.

Finally, when the painter comes to his senses, he takes his shoes off and climbs into the bed, leaning against the headboard. Castiel lies on his belly, completely motionless, but his eyes shimmer with a mysterious light and Dean feels like drowning in their depths. How can such a powerful creature be so innocent and naïve, the painter wonders.

"Cas, can I ask you something?" The painter smiles at the angel.

"Of course, Dean. Anything you want to know." Castiel's fingers slightly touch Dean's hand and it sends electric shocks through the painter's body.

"I know this might sound stupid, but how old are you?" Dean blurts out and grins sheepishly.

The reaper falls silent for a short while, as if concentrating hard on remembering the answer. "I do not know my exact age. I was created many centuries ago, but I am still considered very young." Castiel's voice sounds less troubled by the pain and Dean is very, very glad about this.

The painter looks through the window. The stars and the moon shine brightly in the night sky. The reaper's soft breathing touches his hand again as the lean fingers slowly play with sheets.

"Tell me about angels, Cas. The Reapers and the Guardians. How did God create you? Can you tell me?"

Castiel gives him a small nod and begins to tell the story. As the words spill from his mouth, Dean can clearly see every detail. His mind draws pictures of the creation of angels, darkness and light, sweetness and bitterness, sorrow and happiness, tears and joy mixed up together.

As Castiel finishes telling the story, Dean is left breathless. The impressions are too intense and bright. The painter feels he has witnessed it all with his own eyes. When he imagines Castiel's creation, a wide smile spreads on his lips as he stares at the ceiling. The images of his reaper's birth, his first cries and words, wash over him like a crushing wave. Dean's eyes blaze from adrenaline and he pants.

Castiel lifts his head and glances at his charge. He does not need to ask what Dean sees. The reaper can feel and see them through Dean's eyes.

"You saw my birth," Castiel murmurs and shifts closer to the painter. He puts his head on Dean's lap and hums.

Dean's hand caresses the angel's dark hair. God, it's so soft, softer than any hair he's felt before. The painter's fingers slide into Castiel's dark locks, softly massaging his scalp. "Yes, Cas. I saw it," Dean whispers and turns the night lamp off.

The reaper just snuggles closer and wraps his arm around Dean's legs.

And Dean Winchester knows that he is falling too…

**To be continued…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Dean wakes up with a stiff neck and it hurts like hell. His back is still against the headboard and his muscles ache. The room is silent. There are no other sounds other than Castiel's peaceful breathing. The reaper's head is still in his lap and Dean's right hand is still tangled in his dark locks.

Castiel's eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted. For a second Dean thinks he's fallen asleep, but angels don't sleep, right? The warm breath against the painter's other hand is oddly relaxing.

Dean slightly scratches Castiel's scalp with his fingers and smirks when the angel mewls something incoherently.

It's getting lighter with each second. Nothing changes for the world. A new day begins. People get up and get prepared for a new working day, mothers make breakfasts for their children before taking them to school, young girls go jogging or walk their dogs. It's just an ordinary day.

But not for everyone.

The painter looks at his electric alarm-clock that states that it's 7:45 am, June 5th. It means two things: one - Crowley's party is in two days and two - Dean is a dead man in two days.

Dean's lips form a silent 'fuck' and his head thumps against the headboard. The sound makes Castiel shift a little, but he does not open his eyes or change a position. It looks like he's quite comfortable like this.

"I would be grateful if you do not smash your head." Castiel finally speaks with his deep voice and looks up at Dean.

"I wasn't trying to," Dean replies, smiling as he rubs his neck. He makes a small painful groan that catches Castiel's attention.

"Something's wrong?" Castiel asks softly.

"Nothing major. It's just my neck. Not the most comfortable position to sleep in," Dean chuckles.

Castiel reaches his hand out and cups Dean's neck. His fingers run up and down the stiff muscles and the only thing that Dean can do is gasp. Something warm and pleasant flows from the angel's fingers, taking the dull ache away. It's such an amazing feeling that Dean does not want the reaper to pull his fingers away. But Castiel still does and the painter instantly misses the touch.

"Are you feeling better?" The angel's blue eyes shine at him.

"Yeah… actually, I am, Cas. What did you do?" Dean looks at him in awe.

"It's my grace, Dean. I used very little of it to soothe your pain."

"Thank you," Dean whispers gratefully.

Wait, grace? Didn't Castiel mention that his grace would heal his wounds? Dean leans forward to take a look at the angel's back. He makes some unintelligible sounds: Castiel's back does not look as horrible as few hours ago. The cuts are still there but they don't look as hideous as before, already becoming scars. Dean assumes that the angel's body has started the healing process.

"How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?" The painter reaches for the ointment and uncaps the tube.

"Yes, but it's bearable." Castiel moves aside a little to give Dean some space, so he could treat his wounds.

"I am not sure if this thing can help my wounds, but I appreciate your efforts." The reaper's fingers slightly brush over Dean's hand and the painter has to bite his lip to choke back a moan that's trying to escape his mouth. When Castiel touches him, the sensations feel ten times more powerful than they would if it were just a human.

"Yeah...well, no problems, man." Dean laughs awkwardly and mentally slaps himself in the face. _"Concentrate, you idiot!"_ he screams in his mind.

Castiel's body is truly celestial. His skin where The Tamer has not touched it is soft and smooth like a baby's bottom. And Dean is sure that the wounds will not leave scars after they are healed completely.

The ointment is cool and obviously feels nice against the hot skin, as Castiel makes little humming sounds. He slides his palm up and down the bed sheet while Dean covers his buttocks with the ointment.

As the painter's fingers travel up the angel's body, Castiel's humming becomes louder and when Dean finally touches the spot between his shoulder blades, the reaper bends his head back and moans.

Dean freezes like a deer caught in the headlights and drinks in the sight before him greedily: Castiel's eyes are closed but his face is flushed pink, lips parted, and his expression shows utter and sheer ecstasy.

"Cas..did…did I hurt you?" Dean asks hoarsely and desperately tries to convince himself that his jeans are not getting tight.

"N-no D-dean." Castiel tries to control his quivering voice. "It's just…just my wings." He swallows loudly.

And Dean guesses that he has his hand on the spot where Castiel's appendages unfurl from. Dean reminds himself that he must finish treating the wounds before it gets even worse.

The painter quickly finishes his job and stands up abruptly. His mouth is dry. When did it get so damn hot in here? "Well, there you go. I'm gonna go and take a shower. You can stay here or…"

But the reaper gets up from the bed too and Dean's thoughts scatter around like the yellow leafs in the autumn wind.

Castiel cups his cheek and Dean can't help but lean into the touch. The invisible bond that connects him with his reaper pulses and the painter can feel that there is much more than death that binds them.

"I will go downstairs." Castiel announces as his thumb brushes over Dean's lip.

"Ok...I'll join you shortly." Dean swallows hard and watches as Castiel leaves his bedroom with a panther's grace.

And it is by no means Dean Winchester's fault that he spends a little extra time in the shower.

* * *

Castiel eats his ninth pancake with lots of butter and chocolate syrup while Dean's second pancake is still untouched. Castiel never seizes to amaze the painter. If Dean ate as much as Castiel, he would weigh more than 300 pounds for sure. But the angel is slim and toned.

The kitchen smells heavenly. Vanilla and chocolate scents are mixed together and Dean imagines he's at French confectionary with thousands of pies and cakes around, all with different flavors and shapes. He swims in his fantasies until a squeezing sound drags him back to reality. Dean looks at Castiel and laughs. It's a hearty, sincere laugh. Castiel squeezes more syrup out on his pancakes. The reaper's mouth and nose are covered in black chocolate, but he does not seem to mind, as he's too busy licking the sticky substance off of his fingers.

"Cas, you look like you dunked your head in a tub full of chocolate," Dean jokes with a grin.

Castiel's eyes are bright like the cloudless sky in summer and he gives one of his rare smiles to the painter. "I like it, Dean. This is delicious," he states with a small nod.

Dean's mobile rings and when he looks down at the screen, his face goes pale. The reaper senses the change in his mood.

"It's...it's Crowley," Dean mumbles as he stares at the number on the display.

"The man who wants the painting?" Castiel asks quietly.

"Yes. What should I do?" Dean sounds desperate and somewhat frightened.

"Tell him you will give him the painting on the due date." Castiel voice is confident and does not falter.

"But Cas..." Dean starts.

"Do as I say!" Castiel commands and Dean has no other choice left but to obey. He takes a deep breath before answering the call.

"Good morning, Dean," Crowley's cheerful voice greets him.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Crowley." Dean forces himself to sound nonchalant.

"Hope I have not interrupted your beauty sleep?" the man laughs gently.

"No, no it's fine. I get up early in the mornings," Dean assures him.

"Good to hear that. So, how are things? Hope you have finished my painting?" Crowley sounds curious.

"Sure. It's finished and you will have it on the party day." Dean wipes the sweat off of his forehead.

There is a small pause on the other end.

"Hmm, I thought I would come over and take it today." Crowley sounds little bit disappointed.

Dean's mind frantically thinks of a solution and then he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "Um, you see the paints have to dry and I'm sure after two days it will be in perfect shape." The painter's heart feels as if it might explode.

"Oh, I didn't think about that," Crowley chuckles. "Alright, my friend. You know better. In two days then."

"Yes, in two days." Dean stares at Castiel, who encourages him with a small smile.

Crowley is satisfied with the answer and Dean disconnects the call. As soon as the call is finished, Dean buries his face in his hands. "I'm fucked," he whispers.

Castiel frowns, as he does not understand what the painter means, but touches Dean's arm gently. "Dean, look at me," he says softly.

The painter glances at the reaper, whose mouth is still covered in chocolate.

"I will help you. Just give me until dawn so I can heal completely." Castiel sounds cryptic.

"What are you gonna do at dawn?" Dean stares at him incredulously, not understanding what the reaper means.

"You will see." Castiel smiles at him and licks his fingers.

* * *

Dean tosses and turns in his restless sleep, when someone touches his shoulder. His eyes instantly snap open. "Cas?" he mutters sleepily.

"Get up, Dean, and get dressed." The angel pushes the bed sheet aside.

After his daily morning procedures are done, Dean goes downstairs to the living room, where Castiel awaits him.

"What the hell is going on, Cas? It's fucking 6 am." He sounds confused and irritated.

"You said you had no inspiration for your painting," Castiel states calmly.

"Yeah, and what does it have to do with getting up so early?" The painter sounds exasperated.

Castiel just gets closer to him. Their faces are only inches apart. The reaper wraps his arm around Dean's waist and the painter feels like ice left to melt in the sun.

"What are you doing, Cas?" he whispers, bewildered.

"I'm taking you on a journey." Castiel nuzzles his nose against Dean's neck and inhales his scent.

"A jour...ney? To where?" Dean's tongue is like sandpaper and he feels like he has crawled 200 miles in the Sahara desert.

"To Rome, 771 B.C." The reaper states, and everything sinks into darkness as his two fingers touch Dean Winchester's forehead...

**To be continued…**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Dean feels as though he is rushing through the air, through space and time, at the speed of light. His ears ring and he finds it difficult to breathe. He can feel an invisible and powerful force all around him that whistles and hisses. The only comfort he gets is from the embrace: Castiel holds him tightly against his chest. The arms of the angel hold the painter firmly and Dean knows that he does not need to be afraid he might fall. The reaper's face is buried in the crook of Dean's neck and the painter feels hot breath against his neck. From time to time the angel's lips brush against his frantically beating pulse and Dean's throat gets dryer each time, even though it seems impossible to get it drier than it already is. Dean can't remember when he managed to slide his hands under Castiel's (actually his) new T-shirt and wrap them around the reaper's waist, but he doesn't mind once they're there and chooses not to move them. It feels oddly comforting, and nice, and… well, right.

Suddenly the hissing and whistling sounds vanish and Dean feels that they are not flying anymore. His feet scrape against something solid. The ground.

"You can open your eyes, Dean," Castiel murmurs into his ear.

Dean can hear the pleasant sound of running water and he figures they are near a river. The painter disentangles himself from the angel and looks around. His guess was correct.

They stand at the bank of the river. There are hills and a forest too. Castiel's raven black wings fold behind his back and disappear as the reaper takes a look at the rushing water.

"Cas, where are we?" Dean sounds puzzled as he studies his surroundings.

"When I said I was taking you to Rome, I was not totally correct. The city is not founded yet. But you will witness a very special moment that will play a major part in the city's foundation and that is what you need for your painting," Castiel says gently.

Dean has no idea what Castiel means and wants to flood the angel with more questions, but before he can, Castiel continues, "This is the river Tiber and we are standing at Palantine hill," Castiel informs Dean.

"Right," Dean mumbles, taking a deep breath.

As he does so, he notices that the air is so fresh and pure here – not like the dirty, smoggy air in big cities. The landscape is fantastic. The Tiber flows fast, burdened with heavy thoughts. The smell of pine and fir trees reach Dean's nostrils and he lets out a small groan. Beautiful nature always has been his weak spot. The chirping of birds around him is so pleasant and sweet that Dean has an urge to run into the forest and scream like a five year old kid.

Castiel senses the overwhelming emotions in his charge's eyes and extends his hand.

"Come with me." His eyes shine like splendid sapphires.

Dean coughs awkwardly, but when he sees the reaper's sincere eyes he takes his hand and walks towards the forest.

They walk for a while and Dean can't get enough of the wonderful sight and fresh air.

Suddenly Castiel stops and glances at Dean. "We are near. Be careful." He squeezes Dean's hand gently.

"What are you talking about, Cas? Cut the crap and spit it out," Dean hisses. He is frustrated by the angel's cryptic words.

Castiel doesn't answer and a moment later, a loud warning growl sounds near them.

Dean backs off. "What the hell was that?" Castiel lets go of his hand and smiles.

The painter is confused. Obviously there is a beast somewhere that wants to attack them and Castiel smiles blissfully. Has he lost his mind? Hundreds of thoughts still stir and mix together through Dean's mind when a huge, grey wolf appears from behind the trees. Its fur bristles and the wolf looks even bigger than a moment before. The long, sharp white fangs are bared as low, gutteral growls erupt from the animal's throat.

"Cas? Get back here," Dean blurts out, forgetting that Castiel is a friggin' angel and he can smite everything if he wishes.

But Castiel, instead of retreating, takes two steps forward and looks at the wolf with a small smile. Then he reaches his hand out. The wolf stops growling and sniffs the angel's hand. Instantly the animal calms down and whines pitifully. Castiel kneels in front of the wolf and whispers some words. Dean cannot recognize the language. The wolf makes another whining sound and licks the angel's hand. Castiel pets its head while making cooing sounds.

Dean stands dumbstruck, staring at the sight. After few seconds he realizes that it's a she-wolf. Her breasts are heavy with milk and hang low. He knows from that that she has puppies somewhere and she's afraid the strangers will take them away from her.

The wolf licks Castiel's face as the angel scratches behind her ear. The beast turns around and starts to walk away by the same path she appeared from.

"Dean, I am afraid you will swallow some flies if you don't close your mouth," Castiel snorts as he looks at the painter. "We must follow her."

Dean clears his throat, embarrassed, and nods. Castiel and his charge follow the wolf through the woods. The beast leads them towards a massive oak tree. Dean cannot believe his own eyes. Maybe to someone else, the sight would have been strange, but not amazing in any sort of way. But Dean knows much about mythology, more than the average person, so what is in front of him is more than amazing.

Under the tree, in green grass are nestled four puppies and two new born boys. The painter's heartbeat increases instantly and he reels. Castiel is there in the blink of an eye and grabs his arm.

"Cas… they… they are … oh, God… they…" Dean stammers, feeling as though he is hyperventilating.

The angel nods with a small smile. "Yes Dean, they are Remus and Romulus. The famous twin brothers. And this is the wolf that nursed them."

"I thought it was just a myth. A legend…" Dean says with a shaking voice as he looks at the wolf that licks the puppies and the boys lovingly.

Castiel shakes his head. "As you see, this is not a myth."

"My God…" the painter mumbles and bites his fist.

"Their mother was Rhea Silva, Numitor's daughter, who was king of Alba Longa. Before their conception, Numitor's brother Amulius seized power, killed Numitor's male heirs and forced Rhea Silva to become a Vestal virgin. But she got pregnant by Mars, the god of war and when the brothers were born Amulius abandoned them to die in the river Tiber. But they were saved by some miraculous interventions: the river carried them to safety, and as you see this wolf found them and is taking good care of them. Soon a shepherd will find them and together with his wife – Acca Larentia, they will raise the boys," Castiel finishes.

Dean has read the story thousand times, but it can't be compared to when the angel tells the tale with his deep and thrilling voice. "So, Mars and all the other deities are real?" Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Of course they are," Castiel answers shortly. "I have not met them, but I know other angels who have encountered different deities a few times."

Dean continues to drink in the sight of the boys, the exact boys that he is supposed to be painting for Crowley.

_The painting for Crowley_, Dean remembers, feeling sick as he thinks of it. "Um… Cas, how long are we going to stay here? Don't get me wrong, this place is fantastic and I really don't want to leave but… you know…" Dean stutters.

"We can stay few more hours, if you wish. Do you want to?" Castiel narrows his eyes.

"Yes, please." Dean glances again at the wolf and her puppies and their adopted brothers. "Can I get closer?" he asks, uncertain.

"You may. I told her that we wish no harm to neither to her nor her children," the angel assures him.

The painter slowly and hesitantly walks towards the oak, under which the wolf lies while the puppies and the boys suck her hungrily. The beast licks and washes them from time to time with her warm tongue. There is so much love and devotion in her eyes that Dean's eyes start to water. He squats in front of the wolf.

"Hey there." He smiles at her when the wolf glances at him with her wise, yellow eyes. "Do you know that you are one of the best mothers I have ever seen?" the painter whispers gently to her, petting the beast's head.

The wolf closes her eyes and huffs. Her wet nose nudges Dean's hand, as if asking to scratch her behind the ears. The painter laughs and does as asked. Dean caresses her puppies and the boys too. They all look healthy and well fed.

"Good mommy," Dean chuckles and places a kiss on the wolf's head. He straightens and returns to the place where Castiel stands. The angel looks at him fondly. Dean does not know if it's the sun rays or if his mind is playing tricks on him, but Castiel's eyes seem to glitter with ethereal light.

"Cas, I want to thank you. I didn't have inspiration and you gave me so much. Now I know what happened in reality."

"You are welcome, Dean. It was my pleasure," the reaper answers without breaking eye contact.

They stand so close. So damn close. Just a few more inches and their lips will touch. Dean feels feverish. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. He wants to grab Castiel and crush their mouths together.

Dean raises his hand and touches the angel's slightly stubbled cheek. This is crazy. What if Castiel goes berserk and smites him prior to his death date? But all his insecurities vanish instantly as the reaper leans into the touch and a small moan escapes his parted lips. Those full, sweet, and kissable lips. They beg to be kissed… and this is the moment Dean loses it.

He leans forward and, with desperation, crashes his lips to Castiel's. His right hand wraps around Castiel's nape, bringing him closer. Surprisingly, the reaper kisses him back. It's clumsy and awkward at first, but as the seconds pass, the kiss improves. The angel is a quick learner, it seems. The painter's fingers disappear under the reaper's T-shirt and slide up and down Castiel's back. The short gasps and moans that Castiel make do not do anything good to Dean's erection and he curses silently.

When his fingers graze past the spot between Castiel's shoulder blades, he lets out a louder gasp. There is a small rustling sound and Castiel's wings unfurl from his back. The angel extends them to their full length and Dean stops licking the reaper's neck to admire their beauty. Castiel's wings descend and Dean finds himself encircled by the black appendages. The painter plants one more hungry and greedy kiss on Castiel's lips while his fingers slide through the angel's dark locks.

"Cas…" Dean moans and rests his forehead on the reaper's shoulder.

"Shhh…." Castiel soothes him and the tips of his left wing caress the painter's back.

They stand together in each other's tight embrace. Neither of them says a word. There is no need for words and the silence is welcomed.

**To be continued…**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Dean does not want to go back. He wants to stay where he is with Castiel and take pleasure from the splendid surroundings forever. He has fallen in love with the mother wolf and her babies. The animal seems to like their attention too.

But Dean knows that he has to get back to his time, the era and place where he belongs. He has no idea how he is going to paint the painting in one day, but he trusts Castiel. The angel has not deceived him so far, so why not hope for another miracle?

They lie on the green grass, looking at the pure blue sky up above. Somewhere near them a nightingale sings sweetly.

"He's in love and praises his lover," Castiel murmurs beside Dean. The angel's face radiates with happiness.

Dean can't take his eyes off of Castiel's shining face. The painter leans closer and captures the reaper's slightly parted lips with his mouth. The angel does not expect it and jumps, but when he sees Dean's face he relaxes and welcomes the kiss.

Their kissing is slow, but full of lust. The angel's fingers sink in Dean's hair and the touch flares every nerve in the painter's body. Dean feels like a little moth that flies towards a fire, the heat of which intensifies with each second.

Dean breaks the kiss to breathe in. This is torture. He needs to stop what he's doing with Castiel before it's too late and there's no way back, but he wants the angel. The desire is too strong and powerful to fight.

"Cas…" he chokes out, but stops, not knowing what to say.

Castiel looks up at him with his damn, naïve eyes and Dean Winchester can almost hear his erection curse and damn him to hell for torturing it.

And that is the exact moment Dean's stomach chooses to growl loudly. The painter gasps, not knowing what the noise is at first, but after realizing what it is he laughs. Castiel arches his brow.

"I guess that means I'm hungry. And guess what? We didn't eat anything before we left, so isn't that a surprise? I should kick your little ass for this," Dean snorts and taps his belly.

Castiel sits up and reaches for his jeans' back pocket. The angel takes a big chocolate bar out and hands it to Dean. "Does this mean that I can kick your ass now?" Castiel smirks smugly.

The painter overcomes his initial shock and gladly accepts the offering and grins. "Have I told you that you're awesome, Cas?"

"Not recently," the angel replies seriously, his tone throwing Dean into a fit of laughter.

"Thank you." Dean squeezes the reaper's hand. "I really appreciate what you've done for me. I don't think I can ever repay you."

"You are welcome, Dean. And, yes, you can do something for me too." Dean can hear some smiling notes in the angel's voice.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"You could give me a small piece of that thing. I've become very fond of sweets." Castiel looks at the chocolate bar and subconsciously licks his lips.

Dean's grin grows impossibly wide and he grumbles in a fake anger, but doesn't mind sharing with the angel at all.

They share the Snickers bar for a while when small, warm raindrops start to fall. The wolf and her babies are well protected under the oak and the animal's thick fur gives them more than enough warmth. So there is no need to worry about them.

A few drops fall on Dean's nose and forehead before Castiel's wing covers the painter like a tremendous, black umbrella.

"We should go soon," the angel tells him, and Dean nods. Castiel rests his chin on Dean's head and wraps his arm around the painter's shoulders.

When they get back to Dean's house, they are both dirty and wet. Dean does not mind though. He chuckles and messes up the angel's rumpled hair even more.

"You look like a wet hedgehog." Dean grins when the angel tries to smooth his hair.

"Why would I look like a hedgehog, I don't ha…" Castiel begins only to be interrupted by Dean.

"God, Cas, it's just a joke." Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna go take a shower. You can do the same after I'm done." Dean turns around to head to the bathroom, but the reaper catches his arm.

"No. You can do it later. You must hurry." Castiel drags him towards the studio.

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean mutters, but judging from Castiel's face it must be serious.

They enter Dean's studio, where the canvas stands in the middle of the room. Dean looks at it and his heart starts to ache. The canvas looks like a starving orphan in the street where no one pays attention. How could he forget about the painting so many times?

"Do you remember everything you saw, Dean?" Castiel touches the canvas.

The painter nods and shivers unwillingly. He knows that something important is about to happen.

"Good. Because we are going to paint now. Arrange the paints and brushes. Everything you need," Castiel says quietly, moving away from the canvas.

After Dean finishes organizing all the necessary things, Castiel stands behind him. "Take the brush," he whispers into the painter's ear.

Dean swallows hard and obeys. His eyes stare at the blank canvas, but don't see it. The only thing he can think of is the slim body pressed to his back and the hot breath in his right ear.

"You can close your eyes Dean, if you prefer. Your eyes shall become my eyes as your hands my hands." Castiel's hand covers Dean's and their fingers intertwine.

Dean closes his eyes and throws his head back when the angel snakes his left arm around his waist and murmurs, "Let us begin…"

Time is a strange thing. Sometimes it flows too fast, making people wish it went slower, or vice versa. But at least people can feel whether it's fast or slow, even if they can't actually control the speed. But the thing is, Dean Winchester cannot tell this time. It feels surreal. Maybe centuries have passed, maybe only few minutes. Only God knows. But who knows, maybe even God does not know. The only thing Dean Winchester knows and feels is how Castiel's hand guides the brush and animates the unforgettable memories.

The brush slowly but precisely defines the contours of the landscape: the Palantine hill, the forest, the oak under which the mother wolf lies and the puppies and the twin brothers drink her milk greedily. The colors are so vivid, mesmerizing, and natural that Dean is afraid to touch a tree with a small throstle perched on a branch, in fear that the touch will scare the bird away.

The painter can hear birds singing and the flow of the Tiber. He can feel the stirring of the grass and warm raindrops on his face. He can smell pine and fir trees, the scent wooden and rich. Dean gets lost in his feelings and emotions and misses the moment the brush stops moving.

"We finished, Dean," the angel says softly and takes the brush out of Dean's hand.

Dean cannot believe his eyes. There is no way this can be a painting. It's too damn real. It's like if someone walked into it, they would walk into the forest.

"I… don't… how is it even…" Dean chokes on his words, not for the first time around Castiel.

"Do you like it?" Castiel smiles at him.

"This… this is more than perfect, Cas." Dean is still shocked.

"These are the images I saw through your mind. You painted this, Dean. I just made the process quicker." Castiel looks at the painting and then slowly blows on it. A golden glow fills the studio. "It's dry now. You can touch it," Castiel announces.

Dean tenderly touches the canvas and his fingers study each millimeter of the painting. The angel's eyes follow his every movement.

Dean smiles when he stops touching the canvas. "I'll give you all the sweets I have," he announces.

"I do not want sweets," the angel whispers and makes a step forward.

"What do you want then?" Somehow, Dean already knows the answer.

Castiel's fingers find Dean's lips, gingerly touching them. "I like touching your lips, Dean," the reaper says in a surprisingly sensual growl, and Dean's heart skips a beat.

"I bet you like to taste them better," the painter rasps, suddenly grabbing the angel by his hips drawing him closer, smashing their lips together. Castiel moans wickedly into his mouth and bucks his hips. Shit… With Sisyphean toil Dean somehow manages to move away.

"Right… we need to get cleaned up. I'll take a shower. You get rid of these dirty clothes." Dean clears his throat. They leave the studio together.

As Dean takes a shower, Castiel starts to undress. He takes the shoes and T-shirt off. His fingers unbuckle the belt and unzip the jeans he wears when there is a knock on the door. The angel looks around, as if waiting for Dean to appear and open the door. But Dean never shows up and the knocking gets more insistent.

Castiel walks to the door and opens it. There is the man in a black, expensive suit standing there. The stranger looks surprised and abashed, but only for few seconds.

"Oh, hello there," the British accent greets Castiel.

"Hello." The angel returns the greeting.

"My name is Fergus Crowley. Is Dean home?" Crowley peeks into the room.

"He is in the shower."

Crowley scratches his head in confusion. He does not like standing in the doorway like an unwelcomed guest. "I need to see Dean and give…" Crowley gasps quietly when stark naked Dean Winchester walks into the room.

"Jesus! Fuck…" The painter yells and grabs the green pillow from the couch to cover himself.

"It's alright, lad. It's alright. I've seen worse," Crowley laughs. "But I would really appreciate if you let me in."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Crowley, God I'm so sorry. Of course, come in." Dean apologizes frantically, looking utterly lost.

Castiel moves aside so Crowley can come in. The man does so and just grins wider.

"Will you excuse me? Give me five minutes. I'll be back shortly." Dean does not wait for the answer, he just sprints to his room to get dressed.

Crowley still smirks as he sits on the couch. "I knew it from the beginning," he says with a haughty smirk. He stares at Castiel. "My, my, what good taste he has," he adds.

So, Castiel and Crowley stare at each other while waiting for Dean's return.

**To be continued…**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

When Dean comes back, he is fully clothed. He notices that Crowley looks at Castiel curiously, as if studying him.

"I'm sorry about this whole mess," Dean mumbles and rubs his neck.

Crowley chuckles and waves him off. "Not a problem. As I said, I've seen much worse things. And your…" Crowley stops and smirks, "_friend_ seems to be quite a nice person. What's your name, by the way?" he finishes.

"I am Castiel," the angel replies briefly.

"Would you like something to drink?" Dean asks quickly, trying to change the subject. Crowley does not need to know anything more about Castiel than he already knows. Not that he knew much anyway, except obviously after the shocking scene, the man would presume that they are lovers. Oh, to hell with it. It would not matter soon anyway.

"No, thank you. I'm in a hurry. I just wanted to look at the painting. My apologies, I could not wait till tomorrow." Crowley shifts on the couch. "Is that alright?" He narrows his eyes while a sly smile dances on his lips.

"Um… yeah… Sure. Follow me." Dean looks to the studio's direction. His guest quickly stands up, impatience and curiosity clearly written over his face.

Before Dean leaves the living room, he glances at the angel, who still stands bare-chested with his belt unbuckled and zipper undone.

"For God's sake, Cas, get dressed," he hisses and disappears from the room.

The angel nods and shuffles towards Dean's bedroom to get a new clothes. The painter has given him permission to borrow his clothes anytime Castiel wants or needs them.

While Dean and Crowley walk to the studio, the British man talks about the grandiose party he will be having tomorrow.

"There will be a lot of famous collectors, politicians, critics, artists. Well, you know, the elite. And I want to impress them, my friend. Last year my French friend held a party at his mansion, the main theme was the Renaissance and it was the major event of the whole year. People did not stop talking about it for a long time. And I'm determined to exceed his glory." Crowley chuckles and clicks his tongue.

Dean smiles. Heh, these cocky aristocrats. They don't know where or how to spend their money. Meanwhile, they reach the studio's door and Dean opens it.

The canvas is covered with a long, white fabric and still stands in the middle of the room. Crowley's gaze falls upon it and Dean notices how the man swallows hard. The black eyes are trying to pierce through the fabric and peek through.

The painter grabs the white linen and yanks it down. The fabric falls on the floor with a soft rustling and Dean Winchester holds his breath, waiting for the verdict.

"Mother of God…" Crowley rasps as he looks at the painting before him. The man looks stupefied. Various emotions and feelings replace each other on his face with lightning speed: shock, awe, disbelief, confusion, thrill.

"How is this possible? Is it real?" Crowley asks with a shaking voice and touches the painting. Dean notices that his fingers tremble.

"I hope it's not too bad," Dean says quietly.

"I do not believe this was painted by a mortal." Crowley's fingers lovingly caress the painting, but this is not the most shocking sight for Dean. When he sees a single tear rolling down on his guest's face, Dean finds himself completely lost.

"Are you….alright?" the painter asks worriedly.

Crowley instantly comes out of his stupor and wipes his face and eyes. "I'm sorry, my friend, I got carried away. This is splendid and mesmerizing." The Brit shakes his head disbelievingly. "I want to take the painting with me, now. Can you help me with it?"

When they come out of the studio, Castiel is fully dressed and looks through the window.

"Your painting impressed me so much that I almost forgot another reason why I came here." Crowley stops at the door. He searches for something in his pocket and pulls a visit card out."This is my home address. Tomorrow at 3 pm I am expecting you and your…." Crowley glances at Castiel, who has turned around and listens to them attentively, "your boyfriend at my party."

Dean Winchester never thought it was possible to turn quite as red as he now is. He feels like his whole face is on fire. "He's not… we're not…" Dean shuts up, not knowing what to say.

Crowley just laughs gently and pats his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's nobody's business which way you swing."

Dean opens the door for him and the short man walks out.

"Let me tell you that you have a perfect taste, lad." Crowley grins slyly before turning around and walking towards his Bentley, carrying with him the precious painting that is wrapped safely in a sheet.

Dean closes the door and stares at the visit card. So, he and Castiel at Crowley's party? Well, as for him yeah, he's been to a lot of parties and knows the customs and etiquettes that you had to follow. But what about the reaper? Only imagining Castiel in a suit and looking lost in a crowd of socialites makes Dean want to laugh hard.

But then a scary thought goes through Dean's head. Now that the painting is in Crowley's possession, how much time does Dean have left anyway? What if Castiel has to kill him right now?

The angel senses his distress. He can see the dark sparks in his charge's soul. "Something is wrong, Dean?"

The painter startles, not expecting the question. He presses his lips tightly together and walks to the couch to sit beside Castiel. "Crowley wants us to go to his party tomorrow."

The angel listens carefully. His eyes are cast down, looking at his still bare feet. "And?" he asks, waiting for further information.

Dean's throat feels dry. He's scared to ask the question. Reluctantly, he forces himself to utter the words. "Can we…do I have any time left?" The painter closes his eyes, fearing the worst.

When the answer does not come immediately, Dean opens his eyes and looks at the angel. Castiel's teeth are sunk into his bottom lip and a thin line of blood rolls down to his chin.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean instinctively touches the reaper's lip. His thumb brushes over the angel's swollen lip and Castiel lets go.

"Dean…." The reaper's voice sounds so low and hoarse that it's as if he's been shouting for days.

"What, Cas?" Dean knows that the angel will say something that will break his heart in any case, no matter what he says. He doesn't know if he wants to hear it. Couldn't Castiel just kill him now, no explanation?

"I….I do not want to kill you," Castiel barely whispers and his face falls further.

Whoa…

These are the words Dean expects the least. After some hesitation, he gently cups Castiel's cheeks and lifts his face so their eyes could meet.

"And what happens if you don't kill me, Cas?" He asks the question even though he thinks he already knows the answer.

"I do not know," the angel lies and blushes slightly.

"You're a terrible liar." The painter smirks while his fingers massage the angel's nape. "Show me!" Dean demands as he stares in to the blue depth. He doesn't even know himself why he phased it that way.

Castiel puts two fingers on his forehead and pain seizes Dean's body. It's not a physical pain. It's much worse_. _Then he hears the ominous words:_"Castiel, remember, if you break the rules again you will be destroyed immediately. As soon as you recover, you bring Dean Winchester's soul to us. Do you understand?"_

The reaper takes his hand away and does not say a word while Dean tries to catch his breath and calm his heart. Dean finally breaks the silence. "Give me just a little time. Until tomorrow evening, if you can."

The angel nods his agreement.

"And Cas, I don't want you to be destroyed. I won't let them." Dean pulls Castiel closer for a kiss.

They sit in silence. Actually, Dean sits with Castiel's head in his lap. The reaper's fingers draw strange patterns on Dean's knee while the painter frantically thinks of the things he must do before Castiel reaps him.

Dean sees the sun setting down through the window and he can't help but think that probably this is the last sunset he will ever see.

**To be continued**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Dean, why do I have to wear this?" Castiel asks as the painter's fingers adjust a blue tie around the angel's neck.

Castiel is clothed in black slacks, a white shirt, and a black suit jacket. Luckily, Dean has kept lot of nice clothes for special occasions and has some for Castiel to borrow.

"Because no way in hell you're going there in jeans, or worse, naked." Dean grins at him. "You see, Cas, on special occasions like this one, people dress nicely. Some shit like a dress code." The painter steps back and takes a good look at the angel. Castiel looks perfect. Like always. No matter dressed or naked.

"You look nice." The angel touches Dean's collar, accidentally brushing his fingers against the side of Dean's neck, increasing his pulse. Castiel does not shift his gaze from Dean's eyes.

"Thanks," Dean mutters, and in the next second he has his arms full of the disheveled angel. Dean has always been a good kisser and apparently a good teacher as well. Castiel has mastered the skill of kissing and answers passionately.

Kissing Castiel seems so right. Dean understands that deep down in his subconscious he was always bi, not realizing it until he met the reaper. Then again, was Castiel a man at all?

Dean breaks the kiss and snorts as he gets carried away with the chariot of thoughts.

"What's so funny?" Castiel's gravelly voice sounds even deeper from lust.

"I just realized that I'm angelsexual," the painter laughs softly, but his laughing is interrupted by a loud ringing. A clock on the wall announces that it's 2 pm.

Dean's mood instantly changes. Castiel can see immense sorrow in his charge's aura. Dark shadows are floating above his head.

"I need to call my brother." Dean sounds tense.

Castiel nods and moves to stand beside a window, trying his best to stay unnoticed.

Dean dials Sam's number and after three god damn rings he picks up.

"Hey, Dean." Sam sounds happy.

"Hey, Sammy. How ya doing?" The older Winchester forces himself to stay as calm as possible, knowing perfectly well that it's his last conversation with his brother.

"Nothing much. Just got back to the apartment. What about you?" Sam seems to be chewing something.

"Um, getting ready for a party."

"Sounds nice. Whose party?" Sam closes the fridge door.

"Crowley's. The guy who I made a painting for." Dean licks his dried lips, thinking over the next words. "Hey Sammy, I…I need to ask you a favor." Dean's voice treacherously shakes.

There is a silence on the other end. "Dean, are you alright?" Sam asks cautiously.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Dean forces himself to laugh, but it does not sound natural.

"Bullshit. What's wrong?"Sam's voice is an octave higher, which always happened when Sam got worried. The younger Winchester hates it, but can't help it.

"Look, if… if it won't be a big problem for you, I need you to be here tomorrow." Dean closes his eyes and bites his knuckle hard.

"You're scaring the crap out of me. Spill it out, what the hell is happening?" Sam demands.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Just be here tomorrow if you can. It's… important."

"Alright, alright. No problem. I'm gonna buy a ticket right now. Just don't do anything stupid. Wait for me, ok?" Sam goes into mother-hen mode.

"Sure, Sammy," Dean smiles bitterly. "When you come home, go to my bedroom, alright?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about but yes, ok. I got that." Sam's brain practically fumes.

"Ok, gotta go. And remember that I love you, bitch." Dean does not wait for, "_Love you too, jerk_" and he disconnects the call.

"I'll be right back. I need to write something, before I forget," he mumbles and heads towards his bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel's forlorn voice reaches him and makes turn around. The angel stands motionless by the window with his head hung.

"Not your fault," the painter tries to assure him with a small smile and leaves the room.

* * *

"Oh, hello, Dean!" Crowley exclaims happily. He's really glad to see the painter. "Glad you came, lad." He hugs Dean, patting his back the way men do.

"No, thank you for the invitation." Dean nods politely.

"Nice to see you too, Castiel." Crowley shakes the angel's hand.

"My pleasure," the reaper says monotonously.

"What are you waiting for, come on in, boys!" The host motions them towards the hall. As soon as he leads them in, Crowley excuses himself and disappears to meet new guests.

It's not a house, Dean decides, it's a freakin' palace that Crowley happens to live in. As they enter the hall, Dean stands dumbstruck. The place is immense and majestic. Crowley has a great taste indeed. There are marble columns, a mosaic floor, and a golden ceiling with antique chandeliers. But the most splendid thing is the small fountain in the middle of the hall. Beautiful, naked nymphs are sitting on dolphins surrounding Neptune, who stands proudly with his trident in the middle. The dolphins' mouths are open and purling water flows out. The whole fountain is made of gold and the creatures' eyes are made of precious stones. The walls are decorated with numerous paintings, showing different scenes from the Roman period.

Dean scans the area, trying to find his own painting, but it's not there and he frowns. Crowley liked the painting, but why is it not there? Did he change his mind about the painting last minute?

Dean feels like he's back in ancient Rome and his feelings get more intense when Crowley's servants dressed in short white tunics and wearing myrtle wreaths go through the crowd of guests offering them cool, fine wine in silver goblets.

There are a lot of people. Dean can see some familiar faces. Oh, there is the arrogant reporter from the local newspaper - Andy Smith. Dean prefers to call him 'prick'. Then there's that middle aged famous actress – Melissa Rogers.

"Right, I think we better drink something before boredom eats us." Dean grabs two goblets from a tray and hands one to the angel.

As they sip the wine, Crowley appears with a content expression. He walks to the fountain and raises his hand to silence the guests. He starts to speak and all the noise and buzzing stops. "My dear guests, I am very glad that you are here today to share this special moment with me."

"As you know, the theme of the year is Ancient Rome. I needed the last jewel for my precious collection and with the help of my friend, the collection is completed. Let me show you the rare beauty, so you can value it yourselves." Crowley gives a sign and two of his servants bring something into the hall that is covered with a scarlet silk.

"Are you ready my friends?" the host asks merrily and after the guests give their consent, Crowley pulls the cover.

The crowd gasps as the Dean's painting is brought before their eyes. The gasps are replaced by applauses and "bravos".

"I knew you would like it. Now, let me introduce you to the young painter who created this beauty." Crowley laughs and finds a blushing Dean in the crowd. "Come here, young man, don't be so modest," he calls Dean and somehow he feels like he's walking towards a guillotine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dean Winchester!" Crowley announces triumphantly and applauds as the painter reaches the fountain where Crowley stands still.

The public cheers deafeningly and Dean squirms under their gazes. He hates these moments. He feels like a trapped animal and wants to run away from this crazy place.

"I think he wants to say something." Crowley silences the crowd again.

Dean curses silently and pulls himself together. "I'm really glad you guys like the painting, and a big thanks to our host for trusting me with making it. It's an honor to be here today. I…Uh… I don't know what else to say." He shrugs and smiles awkwardly.

"I think you did great, lad." Crowley saves him from the misery of standing up there any longer and pats his shoulder.

Once again the public applauds and moves around him. Dean tries to find Castiel in the crowd and when he sees that bitch actress talking to the angel, something dangerous and venomous stirs in him. His nostrils flare and instinctively he makes a growling sound that catches Crowley's attention. The British man follows Dean's gaze and he sees Castiel with Melissa. And amused smile appears on his lips.

"Looks like someone' trying to steal your property from you," Crowley chuckles, but not mockingly. "Let me help you with this," he says and they both go to rescue Castiel from the "predator".

By the time they reach Castiel, the angel looks absolutely terrified. The old wench is pretty drunk and clings to the reaper, drawing circles on his back and flirting shamelessly.

"Hey, Cas, I'm back." Dean puts his hand on the angel's shoulder.

"Dean…" there is so much relief in Castiel's voice after seeing his charge that Dean has to try not to grin, or maybe stick his tongue out at the actress.

"Melissa darling, have you tried the special French delicacies my cooks concocted?" Crowley gingerly separates the drunk woman from the angel.

"Oh, are there special delicacies? I haven't noticed." The woman chuckles and stumbles, but the host does not let her fall.

"Come, darling. Let me show you…" Crowley drags her away.

"Thank you, Dean. I did not enjoy her company." Castiel swallows nervously and loosens his tie.

"No problem, Cas." Dean squeezes Castiel's hand unnoticeably.

* * *

The hours pass and the party goes on. The guests get drunker and louder. The drinks and food are fabulous. Crowley likes perfectionism in everything. The musicians specially brought from London play on harps and flutes.

It's hot inside. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and women's perfume hang heavy in the air. Dean feels like he's suffocating. His head starts to hurt after lot of talking with different people, all admiring his work.

"I want to go outside. I can't breathe here," he complains to Castiel, who ever since the incident with Melissa would not leave Dean's side. Not that Dean minds. "Let's go out on the balcony."

They both stare at the sun that is setting, dying the sky orange, pink, and turquoise. The wine in their goblets is untouched. Both the man and the angel are silent. Both of them are deep in thought.

Dean finally breaks the silence. "I don't want it to end like this."

"What do you mean, Dean?" the reaper asks quizzically.

"I want to spend my last minutes with you, but not here." Dean drinks the wine in one gulp.

"I can arrange that." Castiel's voice sounds strange and Dean cannot decipher his emotions.

"That would be nice." Dean nods and turns to his angel.

"Where do you want to be, Dean? Any specific place?" Castiel drinks the wine slowly. Some drops stay on his lips and Dean wants to kiss them off.

"Mountains." The single word sounds like a dying man's last wish.

"I think we should thank Crowley and say goodbye to him." Castiel looks at the guests inside the hall, who look like busy ants. Dean smiles at the comment. Castiel really is a fast learner, knowing to say goodbye before leaving.

"Right. Let's do it then."

As soon as they bid their goodbyes to Crowley and come out of his mansion, the evening breeze blows, caressing Dean's face. He tries to remember the scents around him: green grass, exotic flowers of every color and aroma, wet concrete, the sweet spice of freshly baked cinnamon rolls…

"Are you ready, Dean?" Castiel's soft voice withdraws him from daydreaming.

"Yes, I'm ready. Let's go."

And once again the world turns around and sinks into black as the angel's fingers touch his forehead…

**To be continued**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The air feels so different here than it did outside the mansion. It has its own unique scent, different than anything else he had ever smelled. This is the first thing Dean notices before he opens his eyes and looks around.

They are in the mountains. Boundless, vast space stretches above and around them. Dean makes a step forward towards the edge and looks down.

Below there is a sea of white, soft clouds that shimmer under the evening sun's rays. It's so alluring that Dean wants to dive into the warmth of immaculate foamy waves. "_We all came from water and return to water" _Dean hears in his mind.

Castiel approaches his charge gingerly, not wanting to interrupt his moment. Dean slowly kneels and sinks his hand in the clouds. The feeling is amazing. The white substance shivers and trembles as the painter's fingers gently stroke it, making his fingers damp.

"Cas, where are we?" Dean cannot recognize his own voice. It's awed beyond belief.

"We are standing at the border of reality and a dream world, Dean," the angel says softly.

Dean straightens and the fluffy cloud slips through his fingers, returning to the sea below, where it belongs. Dean tries to fathom what the angel just said.

"Is that even possible?" he asks skeptically.

Castiel nods with a small smile and opens his arms. "Look around. Can you not feel that this is not an ordinary place?"

Castiel is right, this place is different, surreal. This is the place where harmony and peace live, far away from humans. Beyond their imagination.

"Yes. This place… it's making me feel… I don't know how to describe it," Dean says, knowing the words feel silly, but it's just true. He feels strange, different than usual. Dean takes Castiel's hand and kisses his palm. The reaper, his beautiful reaper just sighs happily at the touch. He slowly but firmly invades Dean's personal space and puts his hands on the painter's cheeks, his thumbs fondly caressing the cheekbones. And Dean Winchester can't take it anymore.

"Cas…I…I can't hold it back anymore…." the painter whimpers and buries his head in Castiel's shoulder, while his arms are around the angel's waist.

"What can you not hold back, Dean?" Castiel presses to his chest and pants into his ear.

"I want…I need you…" Dean's hands slide under the reaper's suit, untucking the white shirt and slipping under it. The hands start to roam on his back. Castiel is so warm, not like a cold statue.

"Dean…" the reaper moans and digs his nails into Dean's shoulders as the painter's skilled fingers do something amazing to his back.

"You like it, Cas?" Dean grabs Castiel by his hips and squeezes, while he licks and playfully bites the angel's earlobe.

The angel shudders and bucks his hips on reflex, meeting the human's hardness on the way. And that's when Dean loses it and decides not to give a fuck about anything.

He attacks Castiel's clothes and starts to pull them off of him, never leaving the angel's mouth. He sucks, nibbles, and kisses his reaper while their hands are busy undressing each other.

Castiel's lips are the sweetest thing Dean has ever tasted. It's more luscious than honey and headier than wine. The angel may not be experienced, but he is very eager and returns the kisses with passion. Those little moans that are devoured and kissed off by the painter's mouth are still enough to make Dean even harder than he already is.

Dean lays Castiel on the grass that looks and feels more like a comfy carpet under them. It's unbelievable. They are on top of the mountain and instead of freezing cold, it's like a warm summer evening. They struggle with belt buckles and finally manage get rid of their slacks.

As soon as the pants are thrown aside, Dean stills and stares down at the angel under him. Castiel's eyes are closed and lips parted, shallow breaths escaping his mouth. His cheeks are flushed prettily and it makes the reaper incredibly beautiful, and as fragile and vulnerable as a… well, a human.

Castiel opens his eyes to find out why Dean has stopped kissing him. His blue eyes are clouded with want and lust.

"Dean…." He puts all the desire he can muster into that one word, his voice utterly broken. "Please kiss me," he begs, and who is Dean Winchester to refuse him?

Dean lowers his head and showers the angel's face and neck with sweet kisses. His fingers dig into Castiel's flesh, knead and grope every muscle and spot.

"Oh, God… Cas, your scent," Dean groans as he licks the reaper's collarbone.

"My scent?" Castiel mewls weakly, he's too wrecked to speak coherently.

"Yes… You… You smell like freedom and my shattered dreams," Dean whispers hoarsely. As a response Castiel whimpers and clings to his charge as if he's afraid to let go.

The human continues to explore the celestial body. His hands are gentle on the angel's calves, knees, and thighs. They stop at his hipbones, studying the shapes of it thoroughly. Then they travel up to the abdomen, then the chest and once again stop at those pink nipples. The soft finger pads touch and tease them, awakening from their sleep and making them completely erect. By the time Dean's lips close around one of them, Castiel writhes and pants, arches his back and jerks his hips.

"Deeeeeean…" he whines under the painter's solid weight.

"Shhhhh, it's alright," Dean assures him and continues his task – driving the angel crazy.

Castiel is so pliant under his hands and touches. He's like clay ready to be given a desired shape.

"I wish I'd been a sculptor so I could've made a statue of you and worship it for all my miserable life." Dean kisses the reaper's delicate fingers.

"Dean, please… I need… I need more." Castiel's head rolls from side to side as he licks his dry lips.

"Are you sure? Because if you say yes, I-I won't be able to stop, Cas," Dean pulls Castiel's hair, baring his neck so he could leave wet traces with his tongue on the angel's hot skin.

The angel wraps his hand around the human's neck and brings their lips together. "I've never been more sure of anything," he murmurs and seals their lips together.

"Alright. We… We'll take it slow." The painter swallows hard.

And Dean Winchester is sure he is going to Hell for corrupting an angel. A virgin angel….

* * *

Dean knows that it is not simply sex. They are making love. Each whisper, moan, and sigh is a clear confirmation. They are lost in the ocean of feelings, sweet and delicious emotions.

The human stills for a moment when he carefully buries himself inside the celestial being. He gives enough time to the angel for adjusting to a new feeling, before starting slow movements.

Castiel has never experienced such powerful and intense sensations. Angels, least of all reapers, are not made for this. Castiel suddenly feels anger, frustration, and sorrow that he has been missing all of this, all that Dean gives him. Something tugs at his grace and starts to swell. The angel fights it, but it's uncontrollable, a raw and wild force and the reaper breaks down.

"Thank you," he whimpers against Dean's chest and wraps his legs around the human's waist tighter.

The angel's sobs quickly subdue and are replaced by loud and frequent moans that are caused by thrusting of Dean's hips. Castiel's voice sounds like a divine melody to Dean's ears and he wants to hear this voice for eternity.

Dean slightly changes the angle and Castiel cries out. The human smiles wickedly, knowing perfectly well that he has found the secret spot buried deep inside the angel. His thrusts become relentless and the reaper shivers and trembles violently under Dean's onslaught.

Something warm starts to pool and grow in Castiel's abdomen. This is something new. It gets hotter and more immense with each second. Castiel feels scared.

"Dean… Something is wrong…" he chokes out as his heart tries to explode. "I cannot control it. This is…." he flounders and thrashes around.

"Cas, don't fight it. Just…. let it happen." Dean moans against his ear. He is close, so close.

"Dean…oh…._Dean_…." Castiel screams the human's name as the orgasm catches him off guard and hits him hard, blackening his vision. The angel arches his back off the ground and his wings burst into existence. They extend at their full length and quiver like their owner, who is shaking in the painter's arms.

Castiel's scream echoes in the mountains. Dean's clouded mind pictures the oceans surging up from its power, unstoppable avalanches that come smashing through the forests and forcing the rivers out of their beds, wild hurricanes wrecking and sweeping everything in their way.

The invisible bond that connects the human to his reaper pulses and sends each and every sensation Castiel feels to the mortal. It's intensified by Castiel's incredibly wrecked and blissful expression. And of course there are those unfurled, magnificent raven black wings that caress the painter's naked body. All this mixed together pushes the human over the edge. Dean manages a few more thrusts before his body spasms and he empties himself inside the angel with a loud and lustful moan, his hands grabbing the reaper's hipbones painfully.

* * *

Dean sits between Castiel's thighs with his back pressed to the angel's chest. Castiel has his arms around his charge. They are still naked but neither of them pays any attention to that fact. Both the angel and the human watch the sun as it's setting down below the sea of white clouds.

"I heard your thoughts yesterday," Castiel murmurs. "You were thinking that it was the last sunset you were ever going to see. I wanted to give you something special."

Dean smiles fondly and gently squeezes his angel's hand. "You did, Cas. I couldn't wish for a more beautiful death than this."

Castiel flinches and tenses. He wants to unwrap his hands from Dean and hide them, but his charge senses it and grabs them. Dean can feel the hesitation and doubts in the angel.

"Cas, I'm ready. Just do your job," he says firmly.

Castiel shakes his head and desperately tries to free his hands, but somehow Dean manages to block all his efforts.

"I won't let them destroy you. Do you understand that?" Dean grabs the reaper's face to hold the angel still.

They stare at each other silently. Dean has a smile on his face while the angel looks desperate. The human's smile is forgiving and it hurts. It hurts worse than the fire of Hell.

"I-I don't want to kill you." Castiel stares at Dean. His vision gets blurry and his eyes sting.

"Come here." Dean embraces the angel and tries his best to comfort him, which is weird considering the situation. It's like they switched places and Castiel is human instead of Dean.

"Cas, I will _not_ let those bastards kill you. Do you understand? I am about to lose everything, so don't make me lose you too. I want to be with you in afterlife."

Something changes in Castiel after hearing the words and he falls silent. He is calmer now, but his expression is unreadable. The angel looks at his charge questioningly.

Dean just nods with a faint smile. "Will it hurt?" he asks quietly.

The angel shakes his head, fighting the tears in his eyes. "I would never hurt you, Dean." His voice is a mere, hoarse whisper.

The painter huffs, cranes his neck and catches Castiel's lips with his. "I'm ready, Cas," he repeats.

The angel chokes back a sob and tries to even his voice. "Are you not afraid, Dean?"

The human shakes his head and intertwines their fingers. "No, I'm not."

"But why?" Castiel murmurs, fearing that he might break down if he asks loud.

"Because… in your arms I shall find shelter," comes the reply.

* * *

The two of them watch as the sun sets, disappearing slowly under the white blanket. As the glaring red ball vanishes, Dean feels lightheaded. It's like he's drifting off, slowly sinking into nothingness. The painter's eyelids flutter. Sounds and objects around him become vague and hard to distinguish.

The last thing the painter feels before he closes his eyes is the feeling of hot, burning tears dropping on his shoulder.

And Dean Winchester is thrown into a dark tunnel. It feels like returning to his mother's womb.

**To be continued**


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following. And once again, special thank you for my lovely beta** Bethany**

**Chapter 17**

It is a terrible day and the weather has gone crazy. The howling wind rattles the old house and its planks creak sorrowfully. Raging elements sweep and toss some dead leaves into a young man's face, who struggles with keys and a door handle. As soon as the door yields under his onslaught, Sam Winchester makes a satisfied sigh and steps inside.

There is a dead silence in the house and it's frightening. The young man looks around in an attempt to find his brother, but no one meets him with open arms.

"Dean?" Sam calls and starts to search for him.

Then he remembers their phone conversation. "_Go to my bedroom_" rings in his head like a bell.

Something dreadful and ominous starts to grow in Sam's mind. He feels that his feet have turned into cotton and it's impossible to move. The young man swallows hard and shakes his head to exile the fear that is sinking its claws into his very being.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?" he huffs to himself, and forces himself to go to his brother's room.

The door is ajar and Sam can see the chink of sunlight shining through. His fingers tremble when he starts to push the door. A tree branch smacks the bedroom window and the sound makes the young man jump, startled. Sam finally manages to push the door open and steps in.

At first he can't see anything. The room is filled with a blinding cascade of yellow light. Sam squints and realizes that it's the sun's rays. They fill every inch of the room and hang in the air like a golden curtain. But there is something strange about them. They are not still. They move! The young man touches one of the rays and it slightly trembles.

Sam rubs his eyes and blames stress for this possible hallucination, but as the seconds pass, he realizes that it's not a hallucination. He follows the direction the rays are swaying and stops when his legs hit something solid. A bed.

That is the moment when the golden mist starts to disperse, revealing the sight before the younger Winchester's eyes.

"Dean?" he asks in horror.

Dean lies on the bed wearing formal attire. His eyes are closed, but there is a tiny, happy smile on his lips. He looks like he's fallen asleep and is dreaming of flying with angels.

Sam falls down on his knees near the bed and grabs his brother's face. Dean is cold. He's gone. His brother tries to find a pulse, but it's too late. All life force has left Dean Winchester.

Sam does not recognize immediately that the gut wrenching howling that fills the house is spilling from his own throat and mouth.

"You son of bitch! How could you do this to me? Dean… no… please… God… Nooooo!" Sam wails and grabs his brother's lifeless body. He rocks back and forth as his tears dampen Dean's face. "Why did you do this to me, you selfish bastard? What am I going to do without you? I don't have anyone left… Dean, _why_?"

The realization that he's left alone in this world hits Sam Winchester so hard that he's rendered speechless and falls into a stupor while he refuses to let go of his brother's body.

He sits on the floor, staring at the wall in distress and roaming through dark labyrinths of his tortured mind when a wall clock rings, announcing that it's 4 pm. It means that the younger Winchester has been sitting on the floor for six hours.

Sam very slowly and cautiously, as if afraid he might wake the other man, straightens and lays his brother back on the bed. That's when he notices a sheet of paper. His eyes are swollen and red and they hurt, but the young man picks it up and looks at the handwriting. It's his brother's.

"_Sammy, _

_I don't know how to begin this letter. I guess I should start with begging for your forgiveness. I swear to God, I've never wanted to cause you any pain, but please understand and forgive me. _

_If you're reading this letter, it means you found me. And I know you won't leave me there abandoned. _

_I'll tell you the truth and you have to believe me, no matter how unbelievable it may sound. I never thought that things like this were possible, but life is full of surprises. _

_I didn't tell you the whole truth about Castiel. When I told you he was an angel, it was true. But I never told you what type of an angel he was. The truth is that Cas was my reaper. _

_He was supposed to kill me lot earlier than he did, but he gave me time to finish the painting for Crowley. With this he broke one rule. When you got shot and he shifted your wounds from you to himself and changed your fate, he broke another rule and he was dragged to heaven and tortured. God, Sammy when he came back… I've never seen anyone in such a tremendous pain. They tortured him with the fire of Hell. That's the only thing that can hurt angels. _

_I tried to treat his wounds, but I didn't really need to, because he heals fast. Heh, feathery son of a bitch! And do you know what he did, Sammy? To inspire me to finish Crowley's painting, he took me to fucking ancient Rome! I witnessed a scene, with my Goddamned own eyes, of how the she- wolf nursed the twin brothers! Can you believe it? And I thought it was just a myth. Yeah, right. Myth, my ass!_

_I'm not afraid, Sammy. I know that Cas will be with me there. Yeah, about this… I don't know how it happened. It just did. For a long time I considered myself to be a ladies' man. I guess I'm angelsexual, or Cassexual to be precise. _

_Sammy, I know that I was not the best brother and there were times when I was too harsh and rude, or acted like an asshole (which I was, in fact), but you were the only thing that kept me going. _

_Promise me that you will try and do your best to be happy. You deserve this, little brother. _

_Love you, bitch. _

_Your idiot brother Dean."_

Sam wipes the new stream of tears off his face and stands up with the letter in his hand. He casts his eyes at the ceiling. The voice is too hoarse, so he just hisses:

"Castiel… if you don't take care of my brother up there… Help me God, I will find and destroy you!"

It's such a soothing and comfortable feeling… Something warm and full of fondness brushes against his body… Someone holds him in arms… tender fingers caress his back… but there is something else too… feathers… soft feathers rustle as he's being carried away… a hushed voice murmurs thousands of words… "Dean, I am here"… "Feel no fear"…. and Dean smiles against the angel's chest… He is safe in his beautiful reaper's arms… He has found his shelter….

The moon shines brightly in the dark skies and illuminates the meadow below on the earth. Castiel goes through the grass covered in pearly drops of dew. His wings are unfurled and compared with the darkness of the angel's wings, the night feels ashamed.

Billions of the stars above coo and whisper sweet nothings to each other. And while they flirt with self-oblivion, there is the angel walking through the field with the most valuable burden in his embrace, getting closer to the path descending from heaven.

Castiel stops before stepping on the path made from the dust of stars and the moon's rays. He looks down at the sleeping soul of Dean Winchester and kisses his lips…

Dean does not remember how long he has been sleeping, but next minute he wakes up to find himself in a tremendous chamber. There is a massive, oak table and twelve grim faced figures are sitting at it. There are a lot of parchments, inks, and quills. The painter notices that a middle seat, golden chair, is empty.

The painter is slightly dazed and confused to realize what's going on. He looks at Castiel, who stands beside him and looks like he's going to faint any minute.

"Cas, what the hell is going on?" he whispers to the angel, but Castiel does not have time to reply as one of the red cloaked angels grabs his arm and drags the reaper to the other side of the chamber, away from Dean.

"What the fuck are you doing, you ass?" Dean yells at the angel who's dragging Castiel away and starts running after him, enraged, when a mighty roar sounds. It quakes the floor and the walls.

"Dean Winchester!" The voice pins the human to his place and he clutches his ears in pain at the volume. "Do you have any idea where you are? We are deciding your fate, so quit showing off and stand still!" another shout sends Dean to his knees.

"We know every small detail from your life. It has been all recorded here." A finger taps one of the parchments in front of him. "All your deeds, secrets, desires, wishes, thoughts. Everything! Do not assume that there is even a tiny piece left that we have not noticed. What a shameful life you've lived, you puny, miserable human." The voice is full of loathing and sarcasm.

Dean presses his hands against the cold floor and stands up. He takes a long, good look at the jurors and smirks cockily.

"You may know that I've sinned a lot through my life, but unlike you, I know what family and love mean. What the fuck do you know about my feelings? You have no hearts; human emotions are foreign to you. And I think you have no right to judge me, you arrogant, holy dick. You can put your celestial lips on my ass and kiss it!" Dean feels triumphant and grins widely as he glances at Castiel, who has turned deathly pale after Dean's speech.

There is a pause in the chamber, but one of the jurors clears his throat eventually.

"Let the voting begin."

Dean watches as twelve hands dip quills in the ink and write something on a small piece of paper, then fold it and put in a clay pot. When the last paper is thrown into the pot, one of the jurors, the most scary looking and definitely the oldest, grabs the pot and begins to take the papers out.

Dean swallows a lump in his throat, understanding pretty well that this voting decides where he goes to, heaven or hell.

The juror looks at the paper and smirks mockingly.

"Hell," he announces.

Another paper. "Hell."

"Heaven. Hm, interesting."

"Hell." Some chuckling insues.

"Heaven."

"Heaven."

"Heaven."

"Hell."

"Hell"

"Hell."

"Heaven."

"Heaven."

Apparently souls have hearts too, because at the moment Dean's rams frantically against his ribcage. He stares at Castiel. He wants to stand beside his angel, but some invisible force holds him in place and all he can do is stare. The angel's lips are parted and tremble visibly.

"I hate to announce gentlemen, but we are not able to decide this human's fate. As you see, we have six heaven supporters and six hell supporters. We need one more. You all know what it means," the juror says. The rest of the celestial clerks nod and stand up.

They leave their seats and form a circle in the middle of the chamber. They hold each others' hands and kneel down. Latin litany starts pouring out and filling the chamber. It sounds divine. Everyone seems to be enchanted by the singing and no one notices a change in the chamber.

"Why have you called me?" a pleasant voice asks and Castiel makes a startled cry. The reaper's voice withdraws Dean from his stupor and turns his head to the direction of the voice. Dean gasps and his eyes widen.

There is a man sitting on a golden chair. He's old, but nice looking. He has a beard and long white hair that rests on his shoulders. But the most significant thing about this man is his eyes. They are bottomless and wise. These are the eyes that have witnessed the birth and downfall of empires, the beginning and ending of eras, wars, famine, cataclysms. These are the eyes of the….

Dean Winchester gapes at the man, closing and opening his mouth, unable to make a sound. The man just smiles at him and shifts his gaze from the human to his clerks.

The jurors stand up hurriedly and one of them begins, "We could not…" but a raised hand cuts him off.

The man looks down at the papers and frowns. He rubs his forehead, thinking about the final decision.

"Castiel, you can go now. Your job is finished." The chief juror says.

Dean flinches. He does not like what he hears and starts to panic.

"What? What do you mean he can go? He's not going anywhere!" Dean snarls.

"Castiel's job is finished and he will go to the special place where reapers go after their task is completed. He will join his other brothers in heaven," explains the voice patiently.

So, this is it? They are gonna take Cas away from him for good? Dean glances at Castiel. The reaper looks petrified. Their eyes meet and there are so much pain in Castiel's eyes that Dean all but loses his mind – if souls have a mind to lose. Something stirs and explodes in Dean. His eyes blaze and flash lightning. He is furious.

"Like Hell he is! He is not going anywhere!"

This tantrum catches the white haired man's attention and he stops playing with a quill in his hand.

"This is interesting," he laughs gently and arches his eyebrow curiously. "Come closer."

With unstable and shaky feet, Dean approaches the table and stops. The wooden furniture is the only thing separating them.

"What do you want, Dean Winchester?" God asks gently.

"I…I…" Dean begins, but his voice cracks and shakes and he feels like a coward. He feels too nervous to talk and it makes him angrier. He wants to say that he wants to be with Castiel, that he's in love with the angel, that they cannot take him away from him, but he can't. Tears of rage start to form in his eyes.

"Don't talk. Let me see it." God leans towards Dean and looks into his eyes. And sees everything. Everything that cannot be described with words.

The white haired man says nothing, just signals Dean to go back to his previous standing place and as the painter does so, he dips his quill in the ink.

"Here is the final verdict." He stands up and raises a piece of paper.

And then he's gone like a blow of a breeze. The paper flutters down on the table and jurors walk hurriedly to read the decision.

Fingers unfold the paper and hungry eyes almost devour the sheet. Whoever unfolded the paper folds it back and puts on the table.

The jurors shift their gazes from Dean to Castiel. Their faces are blank and unreadable.

"Dean Winchester, get ready," twelve voices say simultaneously and Dean closes his eyes, fearing the worst.

"Cas…" he chokes out before he hears a distant bell ringing, sending shivers down his spine.

Dean is still convulsing and screaming while clutching his head when someone gently shakes him.

"Dean, open your eyes, please."

Familiar voice. It sounds so familiar. Is it him? Or is it a dream?

Dean cracks his eyes open and the first thing he notices is the green. Green and wet. Wait, since when has Hell become a comfy place? He sits up and looks around. It's a field. A green field.

Dean turns his head and sees Castiel. The reaper is smiling at him.

"Cas? Are you here…. with me? Or is this just a cruel dream?" Dean whispers as he stands up and reaches his hand out to cup his angel's cheek.

"It's not a dream, Dean." Castiel leans into the touch and rubs his cheek against Dean's palm.

Dean is not ashamed even a bit when he makes an unmanly squealing noise and grabs the angel, pulling him closer and sealing their lips. Castiel hums happily into his mouth and tightens his embrace around his human.

After a while Dean pulls away and looks around. "Where are we, Cas?"

"Come with me, I will show you." The reaper takes his hand and points at the woods in front of them.

They head towards the forest. There is no need to hurry, they have eternity. Dean just takes pleasure in his surroundings. The colors and sounds are more vivid, unearthly. His attention is stolen by wild chamomiles and he does not notice as something huge and fuzzy rushes out of the forest and tackles him to the ground. Dean yells, terrified, when he feels a massive weight pinning him to the ground. And then there are teeth. White, sharp fangs. He awaits the inevitable bite that will rip his throat apart, but it never comes. Instead, there is a hot, wet tongue that licks his whole face, paws that scratch his shirt, and a whining. Dean glances at the angel, who chuckles and pats the creature. It moves aside, giving Dean the opportunity to sit up and take a look at it.

"Holy…" It's the only word that Dean cries out. It can't be true. But it is.

It's the she-wolf. The mother of the puppies and the twin brothers. The wolf waggles its tail, looking at the human.

"Come here, you big puppy," Dean says fondly and opens his arms. The wolf jumps at him and starts to lick him once again. The angel watches their playing with a happy glint in his blue eyes. Dean and the wolf roll on the ground, licking and patting each other. The human is happy. His laughter is sincere and merry.

"Come, Dean. This is not everything." Castiel resumes walking. Dean and the wolf follow him.

As they enter the forest, which should be dark from the denseness of the trees, but is laced with a golden light that makes it bright and happy, Dean notices a small, nice house in the depths. The wolf runs towards the house making some yipping sounds.

Dean stops. The angel follows suit and stands at his left. "Dean, this is your personal heaven. This is what you wanted." Castiel puts his hand on the human's shoulder.

The painter looks at the house, then at the wolf, and at Castiel. It's true. He always wanted a small house in the middle of nature, where he could have lived with the person he loved. Some pets would have been fine too, but the wolf is even more awesome.

Dean is happy. He is really happy. He's in his personal heaven and Castiel is beside him. For eternity. What else can he wish for? But there is this little splinter stuck deep in his heart that causes him pain.

"In 27 years," the angel says suddenly. "Sam will join you in 27 years." Castiel adds and gives him a reassuring smile.

"What about my parents? Are they here?" Dean asks hopefully.

Castiel nods. "Yes they are. And you can see them anytime you want."

The splinter in Dean's heart disappears, taking the pain away. The human puts his hands on the angel's hips, pulling him closer.

"Have I told you that I… that I… " he stutters.

"I know, Dean." Castiel smirks and catches the human's lips with his. His wings wrap around Dean protectively, caressing his back.

"We should go inside the house," Dean says hurriedly.

"What is the rush?" Castiel's brows knit together.

"Because, I want to make up for all the wasted time we spent not making love." He grins cheekily and taps the angel on the butt.

Castiel seems to consider the offer with a thoughtful face. "I like the idea," he announces seriously and Dean bursts into laughter.

He kisses, bites, and licks his reaper greedily. He can't get enough. He's Castiel-addicted, for sure. Reluctantly, he has to pull away.

"Alright, come on then. Let's test how strong the bed is." The human chuckles and pulls the angel towards the house.

Dean is sure that they will need way more beds than just one, because they have eternity. Eternity to spend together.

**The End**


End file.
